


Permanently Black and Blue (for you)

by holeybubushka



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: But also, Cunnilingus, Explicit Lady Loving, F/F, Masturbation, Season one companion fic, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, and feelings, examining scylla and raelle's relationship, look i didn't make them thirsty for each other it is literally canon, more tags to come, so expect gradual character evolution, via episodes one through five, wall fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holeybubushka/pseuds/holeybubushka
Summary: Raelle’s so instinctively generous, so sweet, and Scylla is certain more than ever that she's doing the right thing; the army doesn’t deserve her.ORScylla is given an assignment to lure disaffected new recruit Raelle Collar to the Spree. She thinks it'll be easy.It is.But it also really isn't.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 49
Kudos: 229





	1. Passion is Accurate

**Author's Note:**

> I love canon-verse and I wanted to examine how Scylla and Raelle's relationship evolves over the first half of the season. I also enjoy writing NSFW stories, so it made sense to use this pairing's innate sexual chemistry as a jumping off point to explore their relationship as a whole. And because I am constitutionally unable to write smut without a generous helping of context and feelings on the side, this story was born.
> 
> Each chapter will coincide with an episode. Also, this story is in the same universe as 'All Roads Lead Back to You and Me.' You don't have to read that story to understand this one, but if you see characters you don't recognize referenced, don't stress, those characters are unique to this universe. None of them are important to the story's arc and they are mentioned only in passing. There is one caveat; this story does include spoilers for season one. If you have watched season one, then it should be easy to ascertain the Lady's true identity. If not, well, the mystery shall endure. Go finish season one and then get back to me.

On a windswept afternoon, in front of four raging tornadoes, it starts.

“Walk you back?”

“I’m Scylla.”

“I’m Raelle.”

Scylla smiles, making sure to hold Raelle’s gaze just a beat too long. It’s a game: who will blink first? Lucky for Scylla, she’s good at games, and she feels vindicated when it’s Raelle who falters, tearing her eyes away, flushing. 

Scylla shouldn’t have been so worried. It’s taken less than five minutes and Raelle is hooked, ready to be reeled in when she is good and ready. She’s almost disappointed that Raelle is so pliable; that is, she would, if her mark didn’t look so good when she squirms. 

“Sorry,” Raelle says sheepishly after a moment. Scylla has to listen hard to hear her over the tornadoes that are still scything through rock and stone behind them. “Didn’t mean to pull you into trouble.”

“It’s okay. It was totally worth it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

“I would have liked to keep watching the show with you,” Scylla indicates towards the maelstrom behind them. “Too bad we got interrupted by Sergeant Sanctimonious and friends. _‘You two have seven minutes to find your drill sergeants to discuss your demerits. And they already know.’”_

“Ugh, I know. Please don’t tell me all the drill sergeants are like that - I couldn’t take it.”

“Sorry, Private. They are all like that. And worse.”

“I can believe that,” Raelle sighs, tipping her back towards the sky. Scylla takes the opportunity to enjoy the pale expanse of her long neck. “Great. My drill sergeant is a total tight-ass, too. She is going to eat me alive for this.”

“It won’t be too bad. In the end, most of them are all bark, no bite.” 

“Really?” Something lifts in Raelle’s expression. “How do you know?”

“I’m a second-year. I know _allllll_ about this place.”

“Oh,” Raelle bites her bottom lip, suddenly finding the gravel underneath their feet very interesting. “I can’t believe you survived a whole year in this place.”

“Mhmmm, it’s not so bad here, once you know your way around. There’s plenty of fun to be had, both military and non-military sanctioned.” That’s got Raelle’s attention. “I could show you sometime.”

“I’d like that.” The other girl’s voice is low and scratchy. It’s an appealing sound, one Scylla would like to hear again.

“You sound like you’re from the Cession.”

“Yes ma’am. Born and bred. By way of Carolina.”

“That’s a long way from here. Do you miss it?” 

“I guess. I mean it’s not perfect, like, at all. But it’s home.” 

Scylla can almost hear the resentful -- _not like here -_ \- hover in the air. Raelle shoves her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunching over and the light seeping from her eyes. There’s a story there; a bitterness in Raelle that is lingering just below the surface, and Scylla files that information away for later. For now, though, she needs the other Raelle; the devil-may-care troublemaker who skips class and yearns for something more than what the army can deliver. 

“I heard a rumor that all the new cadets are being put in units this year. Is that true?”

“Yeah, just my luck. Well. I guess I shouldn’t say that, they’re not so bad. One girl is really nice, actually. A bit too enthusiastic about being here, but nice.”

“And the other one…”

“Uh, have you heard of the Bellweathers?”

“Oh no,” Scylla gasps, but her mind says, _Perfect_. “I think everyone has heard of them. Aren’t they the ones who think they own this place?” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Raelle laughs. “That’s Abigail. Down to a tee.”

“Hmmm. If you ever want a break from your unit, you should come find me.” Surreptitiously Scylla has taken Raelle the long way back, past Circe Barracks. From their vantage point, they can see the Medea Dorm. Just like she hoped, Raelle follows her gaze as Scylla points in the direction of the Necro quarters. “I’m in the Medea Dorm. Fifth floor up.”

“You and your unit?”

“Nuh-uh. Sharing is for first years, Raelle. I’ve got a room all to myself.” Scylla pauses, letting the possibilities percolate through Raelle’s mind. “Drop by if you’re feeling like this place is all too much.” 

She doesn’t bother to hide the innuendo in her voice, enjoying the way her mark scrunches her face up like she can’t believe her luck. That apprehension is something Scylla understands; luck has long ago turned its back on her. 

“Don’t --” Raelle licks her lips -- “you need to be a second year to get in, or…”

“The army is way less regimented than they’ll have you believe. Ask for Scylla Ramshorn. Someone will point you my way.”

“Okay. Yeah. I will.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Raelle…?”

“Collar. Raelle Collar.”

“Well, then. Don’t be a stranger, Raelle Collar.”

“I won’t.”

Raelle shoots her a lopsided grin as she turns and heads back towards Circe Barracks. Scylla watches her for a long moment, a small figure hurrying off into the distance. By the way she’s moving, Raelle is anxious to get back to her drill sergeant in time, which means, subconsciously at least, that a part of her still craves the army’s approval.

That’s okay. Scylla has time to mold that need into something sharper, something darker. 

Something better.

+++

Scylla wants Raelle to mull over their conversation for a few days. It’s hard, though, because Scylla finds herself suddenly greedy. For the first time in what feels like forever, she’s having fun. She spends way too much time planning their next rendezvous, wondering how Raelle is coping with military life, finding ways to catch a glimpse of her mark as Raelle drags herself from one monotonous class to another. But while she feels a bit like a famished child who wants to eat all the cake at once, she needs to be patient. She’s been Spree for years, she hasn’t screwed up yet and she isn’t going to start now. Anyway, the longer she leaves Raelle to twist in the wind, the more time for her to resent the military and its dour, soulless life, the better Scylla, and what she has to offer, is going to look in comparison.

There’s also the trifling matter of getting the salva.

That’s not _so_ hard. Scylla’s learned she has the kind of face that people want to please, so she sweet-talks her way into the infirmary by claiming to be on very important Necro business. Scylla has never been more grateful for the army’s general distaste with her branch of Work, because she’s ushered through with barely a question thrown her way and leaves with enough salva to combat-drop a small platoon. 

Scylla knows she needs to act when she glances outside her window and sees the downpour outside. The rain is like sheets of solid steel falling from the sky and when the thunder cracks the floor beneath her quivers. Scylla remembers a similar freak storm last year, timed exactly when the cadets first start outdoor training. It could be a coincidence, except Scylla doesn’t believe in those.

No. This weather is witchmade; part of the army’s strategy to break their recruits. Necros are spared this indignity, but she knows Raelle is out there right now, on her hands and knees as the ground around her turns to sludge. The army pretends these sort of drills are about building togetherness, but really it’s about grinding the cadets into dust, wearing them down until they’re nothing but a sodden nub. 

Scylla makes sure she’s within sight of the cadets as they make their way back to their barracks. The rain has cleared, but the unnatural ferocity of the weather means the fuggy stench of sweat and rotting water is everywhere.

Scylla is on her haunches, scratching the ground to evaluate the soil. Afternoon is rapidly turning into night and she’s supposed to write up a report for class, but she’s got something way better planned this evening.

It’s hard to see in the gloom, and there are cadets everywhere. She’s a bit nervous she’ll lose Raelle in the crowd. But when the hair on the back of her neck stands up, she knows in her gut Raelle just _has to be_ close, and right on cue, there she is; soaked through and stumbling with fatigue, sharing a joke with a vaguely-familiar-looking red-headed girl. The other member of the trio must be the High Atlantic; figures she still looks haughty even covered head-to-toe in mud. She remembers the Lady telling her once that each generation of Bellweather is less impressive than the last.

Scylla looks down at the ground, trying to ignore her heart that is suddenly beating so hard she’s worried Raelle can hear it as her mark bids her unit goodbye and makes a beeline straight towards her.

“So how come you get to skip out on all the fun, huh?” Raelle asks, her body damp with mud and sweat. 

“I’m Necro. We work with the dead. They keep us away from the general populace.”

“Well,” Raelle chuckles, “lucky you.”

“Come with me.”

“Um, I’m all gross-”

“No, you’re not,” Scylla says, and there isn’t even a small part of her that’s lying. Raelles clothes normally hang loosely off her small frame, as if she’s trying to hide, but not now; Raelle’s black shirt clings to her skin, showing off her lean contours, her chest heaving as she sucks air into her lungs. 

Scylla smirks, wondering if Raelle’s shirt is as wet as it looks...

 _Nope._ She can’t think that way yet. 

“Live a little!” Scylla says, turning on her heel and walking away.

“Okay.” Like she hoped, Raelle follows her, sounding a little breathless. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

She’s spent her entire childhood on the run, so it’s a perverse irony that she’s stayed for so long at Fort Salem. Still, at least she now knows her away around the forest surrounding the Necro base. There’s a clearing only a few minutes away, right in the middle of four giant oak trees. The ropes are where Scylla left them. She tosses one towards Raelle.

Her mark looks baffled, scrunching her mud-smeared face and staring like she's never seen a coil of rope before. 

Scylla takes pity on her. “Tie the other end to your foot.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Shhhhh…”

As Raelle loops the rope around her ankle, Scylla opens up her stolen cargo, marveling at the tiny piece of salva balancing on the tip of her finger. At its root, salva is made up of herbs, most of them poisonous, and even after centuries civilians haven’t mastered the recipe.

“What’s this?” Raelle asks as Scylla carefully drops the salva onto her gloved hand.

“Salva. Government issue. It’s how they do combat drops.”

Raelle still looks confused but Scylla doesn’t have time to chide her ignorance. Not when Raelle will know this ancient herb’s power soon enough. 

Scylla’s body thrums with adrenaline as she carefully brings her own sliver of salva to her neck. Her mother had an old book of witch herbal recipes; most non-canon magic is derived from the earth and dodgers need it to evade getting caught. Scylla would pour over the tattered pages every night, entranced by the potent power of the earth around her. Salva, though, excited her the most. What Dodger child didn’t wish she could fly?

For a split second she feels nothing as the salva absorbs into her skin but then…

Light. In her eyes, in her veins, filling her up like a balloon. She gasps, throwing her head back so she can see the night sky. It’s like every atom in her body is alight, every synapse fusing together until she’s burning up... 

She was ten when she got her first bike. Careening down the hill near her house, wind whipping her ears. It was the closest thing to flying. This is like that but _more_ , and Scylla knows she must be smiling as she floats into the night sky.

The kaleidoscope of color twirls around them and through the haze she sees Raelle gliding through the air a rapturous smile on her face. Raelle is beautiful, stunning, surrounded by an ethereal glow and it almost hurts to look at her, but Scylla can’t bear to tear her gaze away. 

Scylla can feel Raelle’s joy, her serenity as if they’re linked together by the thinnest gossamer strand. It fills Scylla with joy too, a lightness she hasn’t felt since she set foot in Fort Salem. Scylla doesn’t remember the last time she felt unencumbered by grief. By sorrow. By the nagging feeling she’s on borrowed time. 

Raelle laughs and in that moment Scylla _knows_ she feels it, too.. 

A sharp pain stabs through her as she hits the ground with a dull thud. Scylla groans. The leg that took the brunt of her fall hurt like _hell_.

As she comes to her senses Scylla sees a soldier, with the cut and steel of a drill sergeant, looming over them both.

“What were you _thinking_? We need to get you both to the infirmary.”

+++

They’re bundled into the infirmary as if they’re going to keel over at any moment, as if Scylla didn’t take extreme care over the dosage she gave Raelle. Officers swarm around them like bees and before Scylla can blink she’s being roughly stripped from her uniform and almost tossed on the bed by a medic who looks distinctly displeased at having to be called into action at such a late hour.

Her sergeant is apparently indisposed so she’s left to the _tender mercies_ of the drill sergeant who found them, Anacostia Quatermain. Who makes it clear she wants Scylla out of the infirmary from almost the second she entered it. After a perfunctory examination to determine she isn’t on the brink of death, she’s ordered to return to her room. As Scylla packs up her things to go, Quatermain snarls that _she’ll be dealt with later_ and the look of pure venom the Drill Sergeant shoots at her when Scylla smirks back makes her impending punishment totally worth it.

By the time she settles back into her bed she’s sore all over but weirdly elated. She almost wishes the balloon would come back, just so she could talk to someone. Her Spree handler isn’t exactly chatty, but surely she’d appreciate how brilliantly the night went. Scylla has never seen Raelle look as happy as she did tonight, floating through the air, a radiant smile stretched across her awe struck face and … the shared … look of recognition that passed between them. That can’t be faked, not when salva is involved. And though Scylla definitely didn’t plan on getting caught, Quatermain may have just done her a favour. By making it clear they should stay away from one another, she’s just driven Raelle even further into Scylla’s arms.

Perfect. 

Just…perfect.

She shifts. After an excellent night’s work she’s entitled to a good night’s sleep but no matter how she tosses and turns she can’t get comfortable. Her mind is alert, as taut as tripwire, and when she closes her eyes all she sees is Raelle. 

_Raelle._

Her hands are sliding down her body before her mind registers what she’s doing. She hesitates for a split second, because it's been a while since she's done this, but the low, dull throb has been building between her legs for days and she thinks she’ll never sleep again unless she gets her release. 

She gasps when her fingers slip beneath her underwear. She’s surprised to discover she’s slick already, her fingers slipping clumsily along her folds. 

She remembers Asha telling her once that a witch's lust is special. But that never rang true to Scylla. Even during Beltane, she didn’t feel that all-consuming tug of desire her classmates did. She spent the night with the Blaster girl she was paired with but the whole experience, while pleasant, left her cold. She thought it was because she’s Necro, or maybe she’s just broken beyond repair.

Now, she feels a sense of urgency, a warmth underneath her skin that she hasn’t felt in months. 

It makes her greedy.

It makes her wet.

_Fuck._

She feels a pulse of desire shoot through her as she grinds two fingers against her clit. She’s so wet she can barely gain purchase, and she feels her orgasm careening towards her. 

Scylla slams her eyes shut and there she is again; Raelle, a coy smile on her face. They’re in the infirmary but this time they’re all alone. Scylla bites her lip, moving her hand faster, leaning into the fantasy. In her mind she is pinned to the bed by her mark who grins wolfishly at her in the gloom, clad only in a black pair of briefs and grey tank top, blonde hair falling across her face. Scylla has admired those long, lean fingers from afar but she likes them even more now as Raelle pushes inside her. Scylla gasps, bucking up, searching for friction, grabbing at Raelle’s lean, muscular arms. She feels a bit slutty, spreading her legs for Raelle, right in the middle of the infirmary when they might be caught at any moment. 

Just the idea of it makes Scylla gasp as she presses down harder on her clit, trying to imagine how Raelle’s cat-like eyes would look as she stares at her, arm tensing and flexing as she fucks into Scylla as hard as she can, their shared gasps bouncing off the infirmary's walls.

“Fuck,” Scylla moans to herself, trying to hold onto the fantasy as her mind clouds over with lust. She’s aching, her cunt throbbing as she wishes Raelle was here, fucking her hard and dirty, filling her up so good. Scylla has to settle for her own ravenous fingers, sliding slickly around the hood of her clit, the tension building every time she presses down.

Her fingers are good but what she really wants...

“You like that?” There's Raelle's voice, low and husky against the shell of Scylla's ear. “Yeah, I can feel that you do.”

“Fucking yes,” Scylla gasps, whether out loud or in her fantasy, she doesn’t know. Her world narrows to the fingers grinding and sliding against her clit. Scylla spreads her legs, canting her hips up, searching, yearning, feeling the exquisite tension building between her thighs. She’s so close. So, so, so…

“There’s a good girl,” Raelle’s voice is low and raspy. Goddess, she would _burn_ if Raelle ever said those words. “I want you to come for me. Spread your legs and come for me.”

It’s the last push Scylla needs, her entire body tightening as she comes with a rush, her cunt clenching and tensing, pleasure flooding through her. She moans, squirming against the sheets, riding it out as best she can.

It’s over too soon though. She slumps against the bed, trying to catch her breath. She’s alone, regrettably, the fantasy already receding from her mind. But the remnants remain; when she shifts she feels how slick she is. But at least the tension is gone. 

Scylla brings her fingers to her mouth and tentatively licks them clean. Everything would be much better if Raelle were here, but she can’t be greedy. The night has already been a wild success. She has Raelle eating out of her hand already, and soon she’ll be eating out…

She stops. She shouldn’t get ahead of herself. 

Scylla has a job to do.

She hasn’t let the Spree down yet. 

She doesn’t intend to now.

++++

The next day mostly carries on as normal, Scylla spends the morning doing combat drills with her classmates. Necros aren’t flogged in the same way as the other disciplines but the army can’t afford lambs on the battlefield. So they learn enough Work to ensure they’re not a liability, but not enough to be an asset.

Which is a shame. She would have really liked to have seen the look on Wilbur’s face when she returned to the Spree safe house with a scourge in her hand.

Her commanding officer finds her after she has showered and is about to go back to her room. The rest of her class has been dismissed for the day, but the chill on Drill Sergeant Ezrulie’s face doesn’t bode well for Scylla’s afternoon plans.

“You are to report to Sergeant L’Amara’s office immediately, Private.”

“Oh? But we don’t have class in the mausoleum until tomorrow.”

“You know why you’re going. Three demerits in one week? You’re lucky we don’t make you run laps for a month.”

“I suppose I could use the exercise…”

Ezrulie’s nostrils flare. “What’s gotten into you, Ramshorn? What … you think you’re so big and tough now that you’re a second year? You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing. A Spree operative would crush you before you’d blink.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Ezrulie sighs. “Don’t let a pretty face undo all the good work you’ve done. I believe Drill Sergeant Quatermain ordered you to stay away from Private Collar, is that right?”

Scylla remembers the air being squeezed from her throat. “She did.”

“Consider this a second warning. This is the United States Army. This is life and death. While you’re still in training you are to give us your full attention. Once you’re done here then you will have the time for…distractions. But not until then. Do you understand me, Ramshorn?”

Scylla bites back a scoff. All the officers seem sincere when they regurgitate Alder’s propaganda. It's as if they’re happy for their guts to be smeared across the battlefield. 

“Private Ramshorn?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Ezrulie. I understand and will comply with your orders.”

“Good. Leave," Sergeant Ezrulie says, dismissing her as if she were just another disposable soldier being forced into line. 

+++

The Necro facility is a cold, dark, austere place that runs underneath the entirety of Fort Salem. Most of the other witches avoid the mausoleum like the plague, but Scylla loves it. It reeks of power. Of death. It’s the only part of Fort Salem she’ll miss, once her Spree handler finally decides she’s done enough to be extracted.

There’s no classes this afternoon so the facility is even more deserted than normal. Scylla can hear the sound of her boots bouncing off the walls as she heads towards Izadora L'Amara’s office.

Scylla’s curious about what sort of punishment she’s in for; Sergeant L'Amara is as close to a maverick as the army will allow so maybe it’ll be something interesting… 

Scylla stops. Everything looks fine, but Scylla has spent her entire life on the run. She’s learned to trust her instincts when something doesn’t feel quite right.

The door to her left is ajar and whatever is inside is letting off an eerie, pallid glow. Scylla tenses. She can hear a low, whirring noise, too deep for a machine or even a seed sound. It reminds her of the ominous rumblings you hear just before an earthquake - except that can’t be right, either.

Whatever it is, it sounds alive.

She cranes her head and catches sight of a heaving, swirling mass, so tall it takes up the room’s entire back wall. The substance is as pale as dead flesh … but even out in the corridor Scylla can feel its warmth. 

The rational part of her, the Dodger part, is telling her to get the hell outta there, because nothing that radiates _that_ kinda power comes without a price, but the other part, the kid who was drawn inexorably towards fire, towards flame, is urging her forward, to reach out and touch… 

“This room is closed to second years, Private.”

Scylla whirls around. “What?”

“This room and its contents are not part of the curriculum. Not yet, at least,” Sergeant L'Amara says, dark eyes glinting as she shuts the door firmly. 

“What was that?”

Her teacher hesitates. “Let’s just say… it’s a fungus. A large one.”

“That is not like any fungus I have ever seen.”

“I know. That’s because you haven’t seen them all, Scylla. But don’t worry, I have a feeling you and it will one day become re-acquainted.”

“Can that day… be today?”

“Nice try. I have other plans for you. Follow me.” Izadora turns on her heels, walking so purposefully Scylla struggles to keep up. “Sergeant Ezrulie recommended you spend the day cleaning latrines, but I think you’re wasted on toilets. Leave that to the Blasters, I think,” she quips, opening the door to her office and ushering Scylla in.

Sergeant L'Amara is one of the most powerful witches Scylla has ever met, so it’s odd she’s stuck in this gloomy shoebox of an office that’s thick with the scent of damp earth and lavender. It’s made even smaller by her teacher’s desire to fill it to the brim with boxes full of books and papers and strange artifacts that Scylla has never seen before.

“Sit,” Izadora says as Scylla squeezes into her seat across from the Sergeant. The other woman absently flicks on a black kettle that’s near them on the table. There’s a thin manila folder sitting in the middle of her teacher’s cluttered desk, and something tells Scylla she's not going to like what’s in it.

“Hmm. It says here you have received three demerits in the space of one week. That’s most unlike you, Private Ramshorn.” 

“I’m sorry, ma'am.”

“Two incidents, although they have added the theft of the salva as a separate infraction… Salva. Huh.” Sagerant L’Amara looks at Scylla over the top of the folder. “Where’d you get the salva?”

Scylla shrugs. “I was in the infirmity. They didn’t bother to hide it when I was gathering supplies for an assignment, so…”

“I see. No wonder the officers are mad at you, Scylla. You’ve embarrassed a lot of people…” Izadora sounds amused. “And I am correct in my understanding that a cadet was involved in both incidents?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The kettle lets out a shriek as the water inside reaches boiling point. “Tea?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

Sergeant L'Amara pours herself a cup, dark eyes scouring the file like she’d like to devour it. “And I bet your commanding officer told you to stay away from this girl, is that right?”

“She did. And I will _of course_ do everything I can to obey her orders.”

“You should do no such thing.”

“...Sorry?”

“I remember last year. You were the most dedicated cadet I have had the pleasure of teaching in decades. First to class, last to leave, always willing to learn. I couldn’t have asked the Goddess for a better student. Although, if you repeat that to your classmates, I will deny it.” Izadora takes a deep sip of her tea. “Actually, I was starting to get a little concerned that you were going to spend Beltane here in the mausoleum rather than channelling your energies where it is most needed.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Scylla asks. “The dead still speak to us, even during Beltane.”

“They do, you’re right. But what is death, without life? They are each other's mirrors, each other's light.”

 _Life becomes death, which becomes life again, over and over,_ Scylla remembers, the motto the army drills into Necros from their very first day.

“This girl you’re spending all your time with, I believe she comes from a small but very accomplished line of healers, is that right?”

“I don’t know,” Scylla lies.

Sergeant L'Amara’s lips curve slyly and for a nerve-wracking moment Scylla thinks the other woman doesn’t believe a word she just said. 

“Our Work is powerful, Scylla,” her teacher continues eventually, setting the folder down. “And as ancient as humanity itself. To channel the energy of death itself is a grave and awe-inspiring power. I’ve seen the havoc it wreaks. And...I know what it’s like to get lost in it.” 

Abruptly, her teacher clears her throat, as if shaking off a thought. She gets up from her chair and motions Scylla to follow. Her face is blank and smooth as marble, and Scylla knows there’s no point in questioning her further. 

“Private Ramshorn,” Sergeant L'Amara says as they leave her office and make their way down the hallway, “you should continue seeing this girl, on the proviso you either do it in a military-sanctioned fashion or become better at not getting caught. Until then -- ” she opens up the door to a nearby lab, where dozens of mushrooms are in tiny watch glasses -- “while you were off with Private Collar, your classmates picked these mushrooms, right after the storm. I would like you to document each specimen’s rate of decay and decomposition and write up a report for me and deliver it to my desk by 1800 hours. And not a moment later, Private.”

She winks mischievously, closing the door with a very-un-military flourish, leaving Scylla alone in a room full of rotting mushrooms. 

Scylla loathes everything about Fort Salem. 

But maybe she loathes Izadora L'Amara a little bit less than everything else.

+++ 

She’s wired when she gets back to her room. Everything is going smoother than she anticipated. The only disappointment is she didn’t get to see Raelle today. She looked out for her, waiting to see that flash of blonde catching the light. But she wasn’t there when the first years marched past her this morning, meaning she’s probably still under observation at the infirmary, as if Raelle, _of all people_ , is made of porcelain. 

She should make contact with Raelle tomorrow. There’s something potent brewing between them. Something special; something she hopes the army can’t touch. But until then, she has to be a good little soldier, just like the Lady asked. She picks up her tuning fork with a sigh, ready to practice her Seed of Recognition when- 

A knock. 

Scylla frowns, touching her hair nervously. She’s a mess; the mausoleum always makes her hair frizzy and she should probably shower again-

Another knock, this time so loud the hinges shake. 

“Okay, okay,” Scylla mutters under her breath. With her luck it’ll probably be Sergeant Ezrulie coming to ride her again. “Jeez.”

She’s barely opened the door when Raelle barges in, short of breath, her beautiful face incandescent with rage.

“Raelle!” Scylla’s heart leaps, “What- ”

“This is all bullshit. I don’t know how you stand this place. Everything here is a lie.”

“What happened?”

“What happened? _Abigail Bellweather_ happened.” Raelle’s voice is brimming with barely restrained fury. “My mom died, you know. Her platoon was dropped into some hellhole in Liberia, right in the middle of an ambush. They were trapped. For days. And by the time the cavalry came it was too late; she was frozen underneath the sand in some desert no one’s heard of. And - even… Even after they broke the glass open, they couldn’t find enough of what was left to bring her home. Me and Pop ... we didn’t even get to have her body. The army couldn’t even give us that… I don’t know why I expected anything better. We barely scraped by on Mom’s pension. She was deployed constantly. And every time I thought... is this the last one? Am I going to see her again?” Raelle’s laugh is brittle. “I think the army suffocated her long before the sand did. I think they used her up until there was nothing left and they didn’t care that me and Pop had to pick up the pieces. And now… what? I’m supposed to be grateful about being paired with a _Bellweather?_ I’m supposed to ride her coattails all the way to War College and let some other private from some no-name town take _my place_ as war meat? No way. I’m done playing their game.”

“Okay,” Scylla tries to keep her voice from wavering. “What are you going to do?”

“Get deployed as early as possible. Get blown up quick. Then at least it’ll be done.”

“That seems very final.”

“Why drag it out? Even if I’m not deployed all the time, I’ll still end up dead, all the same - it’ll just take longer. And… I don’t want that. I just... I need something that’s mine. That’s my choice. Even if it means I’m not coming back; even if means all that’s left is some mess on the floor, at least-”

“Shhhh,” Scylla soothes. 

She recognizes Raelle’s anguish. It’s her own, reflected back at her. 

She holds Raelle’s clammy hand, threading their fingers together. “Breathe with me,” she murmurs, pleased when Raelle copies her. It's a simple but effective technique. Her mother would do this when Scylla would wake up from a particularly horrific nightmare; it was the only thing that could calm Scylla's frantic heart.

Like she hopes, Raelle seems to have settled down. She doesn’t look like she’s going to murder Bellweather anymore, which is handy since Scylla doubts she’d be much use to the Spree in prison. In fact... there’s something else building behind those brilliant blue eyes. Scylla sees it, recognizes it in her own labored breathing. Their hands are still touching. Raelle's fingers are warm and coarse- Scylla has to resist the urge to shiver as they rub against her skin. 

Scylla drops their hands. It’s too fraught being near Raelle right now, especially when there’s something hungry in the other girl’s gaze. And it’s hard for Scylla to concentrate on her mission when Raelle looks _that good_ in her sleeveless shirt and jeans. 

She just... needs to focus. Scylla can’t screw this up.

“So, that was your big plan, then, ” Scylla says eventually, moving towards the mirror. She fixes her hair, giving her heart the precious seconds it needs to beat normally again. “Just ruin your chances of War College, get deployed too soon and get blown up because you suck so bad? Die young, waste all that youth and beauty --” she catches Raelle’s eyes -- “and fury?”

“Yeah, kinda like that, but faster.”

“Your plan was hot garbage. Even if it works, it’s winning by losing.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, beautiful, but there’s no way out.”

“I know a way.”

Raelle’s face is so open and trusting and Scylla … just ...

_Fuck it._

It’s not much of a first kiss, just a quick press of soft lips against one another but when Scylla pulls away she’s already a little breathless. 

Raelle looks back at her, dazed. She’s gorgeous, always, but even more so when she’s bathed in the early evening light. Scylla doesn’t think she could resist her even if she wanted. And why shouldn’t she, anyway? Why _shouldn’t_ Scylla kiss her? 

Her mind screeches to a stop when Raelle brings her hands down to cradle Scylla’s jaw. Her fingers are cool and gentle but her kiss is hard. So hard Scylla’s struggling just to keep up. She’s panting, clutching Raelle’s shoulders, trying to ground herself. This is going way too fast. She just needs a second to breathe, to try and wrest some control back, but Raelle is relentless. She kisses her, again and again, not letting Scylla breathe, not letting her think. Every kiss is more fervent than the last and Scylla feels a familiar ache form between her thighs because she knows Raelle isn’t the type to leave a girl hanging.

The shock of hitting the wall makes her wince and whimper into Raelle’s mouth. Raelle smirks into the next kiss, getting cockier by the second, and fuck, it’s like she’s strolled straight out of Scylla’s fantasy. Raelle is everything Scylla wanted, and _more_ , more assertive, more brazen, and it makes her slick, makes her wet. Scylla scrambles, pulling Raelle’s shoulder, not away, but towards, needing to grind against her, something, anything, just for a little relief…

She swears a bit of brain dribbles out of her ears when Raelle swiftly undoes her belt, shoving her hand down Scylla’s pants without preamble. 

There’s a flicker of something … triumph, perhaps - in Raelle’s eyes when she feels Scylla’s slick heat. Scylla doesn’t even feel remotely self-conscious, not when she’s pinned against her bedroom wall and her own wetness is coating Raelle’s fingers.

“Tell me…” Raelle rasps against Scylla’s lips.

Tell her what? She forgets herself for a split second. Her training… She was trained to do this… well, not _this_ , exactly, but…

“Let them train you,” Scylla gasps out, finally remembering the words the Lady seared into her brain. She’s rewarded as the pads of Raelle’s fingers slowly circle her clit. “Let them make you powerful.” Raelle drags her mouth to Scylla’s neck, nipping at her skin. “The way over- ” Scylla’s voice cracks when Raelle rocks forward, rubbing her clit rhythmically, with purpose, with power, “ -is under.”

Raelle grins, enjoying how Scylla squirms every time she thrusts forward. “Okay…”

“And the way out…” she can’t hear herself think over her own ragged gasps, ”is…”

“Is in,” Raelle finishes thrusting two fingers inside.

Yes, _Goddess_ , finally, Scylla thinks, jerking her own hips forward, enjoying the delicious drag of Raelle’s fingers. The angle means Raelle can’t fuck her too deeply, but it doesn’t matter, not when she rubs at Scylla’s entrance with each teasing, knowing thrust. 

Her mark seems to know just what she wants and Scylla almost comes when Raelle pins her hand to the wall and leans into her, pressing the heel of her palm against Scylla’s clit. 

Raelle looks so fucking smug, so in control. Scylla couldn't break free if she tries, not that she would want to; not when it feels this good to obediently spread her legs for a girl she's just met.

The thought of that makes her moan. She can feel Raelle smiling against her skin, as she thrusts against her in a smooth, driving motion. Raelle has clearly done this before and Scylla sends a prayer of thanks to the Cession girls who trained her mark up this good.

She’s so close, hurtling towards her orgasm with obscene haste, every shallow thrust making her clench. Scylla wants to revel in this feeling, of dangling so close to the precipice as she fucks herself on Raelle’s fingers.

“Fuck,” Scylla moans, feeling trapped but in the best possible way. “I’m so…”

“Yeah,” Raelle takes Scylla’s lip between her teeth and bites down gently before pulling away. Scylla wishes she could kiss the smirk off Raelle’s lovely face but she’s struggling to breathe... 

“More…” she whines instead. “Raelle…”

Raelle lets Scylla arm fall. She seems to know what Scylla needs, what she’s asking for with every stuttering breath. Raelle drives in just a little deeper. The rougher tempo means the heel of her palm grinds harder against Scylla’s clit. The pressure is blunt and so, so good, and Scylla can’t help but close her eyes, holding onto Raelle’s shoulders like her life depends on it as she grinds against Raelle’s palm. 

Raelle growls. 

She grabs a fistful of Scylla’s hair, pulling her head back, forcing Scylla’s eyes to snap open. “Look at me, Scylla.” 

And, fuck. Raelle’s eyes are dark, demanding. Scylla’s on the edge, hot and aching, and when Raelle leans forwards and bites down on her ear, it’s enough. She comes, crying out loudly, pleasure swelling and breaking over her like waves, the high so intense it feels like her legs are about to crumple underneath her. 

Finally, release. Scylla slumps against the wall, sated, shaky, the sweat on her skin making her shiver.

“Okay.”

“Huh?” Scylla asks weakly. 

Raelle’s bright blue eyes are shining. “Okay, I’ll do it your way. I’ll let them,” and she gently strokes the inside of Scylla’s cunt, “make me powerful.”

“You’re already plenty powerful…” Scylla gasps as Raelle finally pulls out with a smirk.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Is that an order?”

“Sure. Keep moving, Private.”

“Okay,” Scylla says, glad she can lean against Raelle because her legs are suspiciously wobbly right now. She slumps on the bed. She’s been on her feet all day, not to mention she just got fucked better than she has in years, so the blankets are a welcome relief. 

Raelle makes no move to join her, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, fiddling with her hands like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Gone is the confident girl who fucked her into oblivion. Raelle looks shy, like a suitor waiting outside her sweetheart’s house. 

Which, considering what they just did is ridiculous… but… also kind of cute.

“Raelle,” Scylla says softly, lifting her upper body up via her elbows. “Come here.”

Raelle’s lips curve into a tremulous smile as she moves forward, letting Scylla pull her onto the bed with a soft _oof_. For a second they have to detangle themselves, laughing a bit because there are a lot of limbs and not a lot of space. Finally, Raelle settles, looking at her so fondly it makes Scylla’s tummy flip a little.

“Thanks. I needed that,” Raelle says.

“A little first-week power boost?”

“Something like that.”

“Mhm, well, the pleasure was all mine.” 

Raelle’s eyes haven't left hers since they settled on the bed. It’s flattering to be looked at with such open longing, except Scylla doesn't feel all that worthy of it. Not when she looks like a train wreck: her lips are all puffy and her hair already resembled a bird’s nest, and that was before Raelle started pulling on it…

“Sorry,” she blurts out. “I know my hair is a mess, I was down in the Necro building and it always makes it go all funny.”

“I like it. You normally look so put together, it’s kinda… good to see you… not as _much_. Put together, I mean.” Raelle burrows her head into Scylla’s pillow. “What were you doing in the Necro building?”

“Looking at fungus. No, really!” Scylla rolls her eyes as Raelle laughs. “Actually, I was supposed to have the afternoon off but my plans were forcibly changed because of some… extracurricular activities.”

“The salva?”

“Yep.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Scylla strokes Raelle’s chin. Her skin is so soft. “I don’t regret it one bit.”

“Hey, Scylla?”

“Hmm?”

Raelle’s voice is soft. “Can we go again?”

Scylla struggles not to gape at her. She doesn’t think Raelle is trying to be sexy right now, but she just _is_. Scylla is shocked at herself as well, how quickly her body burns for Raelle.

She pulls Raelle towards her by her shirt. She’s ready to be fucked hard again, but Raelle surprises her. When her mark kisses her, it’s unhurried, almost leisurely. When she cups Scylla’s jaw she’s gentle, like she’s holding something precious. Instinctively, Scylla slows down, parting her lips, letting herself be kissed.

Raelle is… so tender. So different to the girl who shoved her hands down Scylla’s pants and fucked until her legs were shaking. She’s not sure which Raelle she prefers more, but one way or another, she’s going to have her again.

She _needs_ to have her again.

“Off,” she whines, pulling at Raelle’s shirt. Raelle grins at her, a lopsided, almost goofy smile and Scylla has to squash the urge to kiss her mark until she’s breathless. But, infuriatingly, she makes no attempts to take her shirt off, which is unfortunate. But luckily, Scylla has a knack of getting what she wants.

Scylla grabs Raelle’s hand, tugging the two fingers that were fucking her so nicely not five minutes ago into her mouth. She groans, tasting the remnants of herself. Scylla opens her mouth wider, taking Raelle in deeper. She catches Raelle’s eyes as she sucks, enjoying the feel of her mark rubbing the pads of fingers against her tongue. 

“Fuck,” Raelle groans, watching her intently. Scylla enjoys being on show, sucking on Raelle’s fingers sweetly, nibbling and taking them inside her mouth as far as she can.

Raelle clenches her jaw, eyes flashing in a way that makes Scylla clench around nothing. Raelle pulls her fingers out before shoving Scylla flat on her back, right into the mattress. The soft, sweet girl is ebbing away, replaced by the firebrand, and Scylla feels a rush of warmth between her legs. 

“You’re trouble, Scylla Ramshorn.”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

Her mark’s eyes darken as she straddles Scylla. Raelle tugs her shirt off in one fluid motion, black sports bra following. Scylla doesn’t get any time to admire the body sitting above her; not when she’s scrambling to take her own shirt off, throwing the offending piece of clothing somewhere across the room, before reaching back and unclasping her bra. She’s barely undone it before Raelle leans down, crashes their mouths together in a hard, messy kiss.

“Goddess,” Scylla gasps. This is everything she could have dreamed of, and _more_ , she thinks, pulling Raelle closer, moaning into her mouth as their breasts press together. 

“Raelle,” she breathes. Raelle leans back on her haunches and starts to kiss down Scylla’s neck, scorching a hot trail across her clavicle. Her skin feels alive everywhere Raelle’s lips touch, and it makes Scylla wet, hot with need, all over again.

Almost as if she knows, Raelle shoots her a teasing look. Scylla doesn’t have time to be exasperated, not when Raelle finally cups her breasts, stroking her nipples gently with her calloused thumbs. Scylla groans, throwing her head back into the pillow, pushing her breasts up encouragingly into Raelle’s hands. 

“Mmm. You like that?”

“I don’t like your pants. Take them off.”

Raelle cocks an eyebrow at her, squeezing Scylla’s tits playfully. “Bossy.”

“Just…” Scylla’s voice trails off into a gasp as Raelle squeezes just a bit harder. “Please.”

Raelle grins, leaning down and kissing her hard and sloppy before rolling off her and going to stand by the bed. Scylla misses the heat of her body immediately but she definitely doesn’t object when Raelle starts to shed her clothes.

“Yours too,” Raelle orders as she unbuckles her belt.

Scylla’s mouth is dry. She’s fucked people before -- not a lot, but a few. She’s definitely no blushing virgin, but she’s never felt this crushing need before. Never felt her own wetness slick against her thighs. 

She’s also never had this much trouble taking her pants off. 

Her fingers are stiff and heavy, as if made from lead. Her pants are still unbuckled, a lewd reminder of what went before, but she still can’t seem to shuck them off. 

Raelle takes pity on her, laughing gently, helping her out what remains of her uniform before they tumble together on the bed in a mess of limbs.

Scylla takes advantage of the confusion to push Raelle into the mattress, greedily touching the younger girl underneath her. She wants to _taste_ Raelle, wants to feel the push and pull of their bodies pressed together. Scylla wants to hear Raelle moan and gasp right up against her ear.

Raelle whimpers as if sensing Scylla’s thoughts. She lifts her hips, the pair of them easing into a hot grind. Raelle has soaked through her underwear and it makes Scylla want to fall apart all over again. 

Scylla thinks she could come just from humping Raelle’s thigh. Except… it can’t be over yet. Not when there’s so much she wants to explore. 

“No, no…” Scylla pulls away, panting hard.

Raelle’s hair is a sweaty mess across her forehead. She looks ravished, desperate. Scylla thinks she’s never been more beautiful.

“Scylla…?”

“Just… let me…” Scylla starts to kiss down Raelle’s lovely, long neck. “Just let me…”

Scylla touches everywhere; laving her tongue around Raelle’s small, pert breasts. She slides her fingers to her waist, following the dip and curve of Raelle’s body. She kisses down her taut stomach, caught between wanting to rush and wanting to map every inch of Raelle’s skin with her tongue.

The vicious-looking scar tissue near Raelle’s hip stops Scylla right in her tracks, though. It looks like an old wound, but the angry red scar tissue still appears painful. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Don’t worry,” Raelle looks sheepish. “It’s not contagious. And it’ll go away in a few days.”

“How’d you get it?”

An expression Scylla can’t quite read flashes across Raelle’s face. “Off a civilian. I… healed her.”

She _healed_ her? Scylla runs her fingers over the scab’s jagged ridges. This type of Fixing, the kind that balances affliction and relief, is older than Alder and far too advanced for even a precocious cadet. 

“This is incredible, Raelle,” Scylla whispers against her skin. “You’re incredible… this is ancient Work-”

Scylla’s breath catches in her throat and she is flipped on her stomach. Raelle straddles her back, pushing her shoulder blades into the mattress. Scylla tries not to gasp too much when she feels Raelle’s slick underwear press against her back.

“Enough talking,” Raelle rasps against the shell of Scylla’s ear. 

Scylla moans, burying her face into her pillow. Raelle is full of delightful surprises. She squirms as Raelle gently pulls at Scylla’s underwear. Scylla lifts her hips, wiggling a bit, and somehow Raelle manages to pull the soaked piece of clothing off. The room’s cool air hits her, right between her legs, and it’s then she realizes she’s so, so wet. Scylla whimpers against the mattress. She feels strangely vulnerable, face down on the sheets, open and ready.

“Mhmmm,” Raelle sighs, pressing kisses to her back. “You look so good for me, Scylla.”

Scylla groans, spreading her legs wider as a shock of arousal courses through her.

“Hey there,” Raelle chuckles, nipping at Scylla’s shoulder blade. “Found your witch mark.”

“Mmm,” Scylla sighs contentedly as Raelle traces the outline of the mark with the tip of her tongue. “That feels good.”

“It’s so… shiny.”

“I’m not surprised.” She shifts her head to the side so she can look up at Raelle through her eyelashes. “I think you can make it even shiner.”

Raelle’s grin turns filthy as she runs her hands down Scylla’s back, over her butt. She knocks Scylla’s thighs even further apart.

“Raelle,” Scylla cries out as her mark’s fingers stroke slowly down her folds. “Goddess. Fuck. Fuck.”

Raelle chuckles roughly and Scylla honestly doesn’t think she’s been more turned on in her life and she almost comes when two calloused fingers gently dip inside her.

How is she so close again? She can’t resist humping the sheets, grinding her clit against the mattress. Tension coils in her belly, taut and aching and ready to snap as Raelle starts to shallowly fuck her from behind.

“Please,” Scylla’s not sure what she's asking for. “Please, please, please.”

Raelle’s breathing is heavy, as if she’s back in training. With her free hand she pushes Scylla’s shoulder down, pinning her to the bed as she gently rocks in and out. Scylla gasps, hovering on the precipice, grinding against the sheets in time to Raelle’s thrusts, chasing her release.

“Raelle,” she moans against her mattress, squeezing her eyes shut, feeling her orgasm ebbing closer. She doesn’t have the energy to move from her stomach, not when it feels so good to be pinned to the bed. The angle is preventing Raelle from going too deep, but even so, Scylla still feels deliciously full. “I’m so… 

She almost cries when Raelle pulls out. In one swift motion she’s being rolled onto her back. 

Her curse dies in her throat as Raelle spreads Scylla’s legs and circles her fingers around her swollen clit.

“Raelle,” Scylla half-admonishes her.

“Sorry. I just want to see your face when you come.”

Fuck. Scylla feels a bolt of heat run straight to her cunt. It’s ridiculous. They’ve only just met, but she’s never ached for a person more. Raelle, of course, seems to sense it, like she seems to sense everything. She bites her lips, looking very pleased at having Scylla spread open and at her mercy. 

“Raelle… If you don’t fuck me _right now_ , I swear…”

It's like waving a red flag at a bull. Raelle groans as she enters Scylla roughly, pushing inside her right to the knuckles. 

“Harder,” Scylla moans, pawing at Raelle’s shoulders. “Just like that.”

Raelle presses closer to Scylla, skin against skin, the muscles in her arm tensing and releasing and she fucks Scylla so good. Scylla squeezes her eyes shut. The pleasure from feeling so full is almost overwhelming. Her words are a jumbled mess being ripped from her throat. It’s heaven. It’s like salva, but _more_. 

It’s over within minutes. She’s climaxing, the pleasure pulsing straight through her. Her cunt clamps down greedily around Raelle’s thrusting fingers, trying to suck her in deeper.

The pleasure seems to go on forever, crashing over and over, and when she’s finally done she melts into her sweat-strewn sheets, utterly sated. 

She wasn't sure what she expected when she decided to seduce her mark. If she had to guess, she was anticipating a long, drawn-out seduction. She definitely didn’t expect to be spreading her legs less than a week after laying eyes on Raelle. Not that she’s complaining, even if she can barely lift her head from her pillow. General Alder could storm into this room and bare her throat to Scylla, and she’d still be too spent to do a damn thing about it.

“You okay?”

Scylla opens her eyes. Raelle is looking down at her, her elfin face screwed up with concern. 

“Fine. Better than fine.” Scylla strokes her mark’s jaw, tracing the scar on Raelle’s chin. Raelle sighs, eyes drifting lazily shut, nuzzling Scylla’s fingers. 

She’s lovelier than Scylla could have ever imagined.

Raelle shifts, and it’s then Scylla realizes Raelle’s briefs are soaked through. 

She's lost track of time but they've been fucking for a while. Scylla has her fill of pleasure but Raelle must be desperate. But she hasn’t made a single demand of Scylla. She’s so instinctively generous, so sweet, and Scylla is certain more than ever that she's doing the right thing; the army doesn’t deserve her.

Scylla smirks up at Raelle, holding her gaze long enough to make the other girl squirm. “Your turn.”

Raelle’s gasp is soft as Scylla guides her so she’s on her back. Scylla smiles against Raelle’s lips, kissing her softly, enjoying the heat that curls between their bodies. 

They kiss like that for a while, but Scylla can tell Raelle is getting a little impatient, and she can’t deny her. Not when she’s been waiting so long. She kisses down Raelle’s body, stopping to lavish attention on the swell of her breasts, enjoying the feel of her hardened nipples against the palm of Scylla’s hands. Raelle groans, hips jogging up, yearning for friction, her lovely face flushed with arousal.

Scylla reaches down and the pair of them work to rid Raelle of her soaked briefs. Once they’re flung to the otherside of the room, somewhere unimportant, Scylla sighs greedily. She can’t stop touching her, running her hands over the pale expanse underneath her, wanting Raelle to share in her pleasure. 

Now that she’s naked Scylla can smell her. It makes her mouth water as she brushes her lips down Raelle’s body, each kiss more frantic than the last. Raelle groans, writhing against the sheets as Scylla gets closer to, and -- _oh_.

“Hey there. Found your witch mark.”

“Yeah… uh… I guess you could say...mine’s a bit… hidden.”

“I like that it’s hidden.” Scylla kisses the sensitive skin, enjoying how it makes Raelle’s thighs shake. “I feel like an explorer who has just found treasure.”

“You found your bounty?”

“And it’s _shiny_.”

“Hell yeah it is,” Raelle grins crookedly as she threads her fingers through Scylla’s hair, tugging ever-so-gently. “I think you could make it even shiner.”

That’s all the encouragement Scylla needs. She shifts forward, parting Raelle’s legs so she can settle in between them. Her heart is pounding in her ears. Being this close to where Raelle needs her most is exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. But there’s no time for nerves; not when she can see how open and slick Raelle is; her desire made physical. 

Scylla runs the tip of her tongue down Raelle’s slit to her entrance. Goddess, she tastes good. And she looks divine, writing against the sheets. This isn’t Scylla’s first all-girl rodeo, but she doesn’t remember any of her other lovers being so needy. She doesn’t remember their hot skin melting underneath her tongue.

The flame within Scylla, always smoldering, roars into life. It makes her dive back into Raelle’s slick heat, working her tongue up and down in long, deep strokes, enjoying how Raelle seems to get wetter with each passing second.

“Scylla,” Raelle moans. Her fingers twist and tug gently at Scylla’s hair. 

Scylla smirks, catching Raelle’s eye. She holds her gaze for a long beat before, finally, taking pity on her mark as she swipes her tongue across her clit.

Raelle lets out a cry, back arching gorgeously off the bed. Scylla wishes she could suspend this moment, keep them here forever. But she’s not cruel. Not to those who don’t deserve it. 

She traps Raelle’s clit in her mouth, lapping at it with broad strokes. Raelle lets out a high gasp, grinding herself against Scylla’s mouth. She’s beautiful, splayed out across the bed, moaning and writhing with every swipe of Scylla’s tongue. 

“I’m close.” Raelle pants, pushing Scylla’s head down a bit harder. “Fuck, Scylla, just…”

Scylla shifts, stroking Raelle’s entrance with a finger. She locks eyes with her mark, pushing against but not in, and suddenly Raelle is nodding frantically, _yes, yes, yes._

Scylla smiles against her, easing two fingers inside of Raelle. She’s so warm and obscenely tight, and Scylla can’t help but let out a small gasp at how easily she slides inside. 

Scylla strokes Raelle's clit with her tongue as she fucks her, keeping a slow, driving pace, curling her fingers with every inward thrust, until she’s buried right to knuckles. 

“Scylla… suck my clit.”

Christ. Scylla squeezes her thighs together, trying to ignore the nascent heat building between her own legs. She surges up, pursing her lips around the swollen nub, sucking hard. Raelle lets out a sharp cry, and for a split second Scylla is scared she’s hurt her. But she hasn’t, not if the way her mark grinds her cunt against Scylla’s mouth is any indication. 

Scylla closes her eyes, fucking Raelle with hard thrusts. She laps at her clit, hard and fast. She can barely breathe, but she doesn’t need to, not when Raelle is so, so close. Scylla’s whole world is narrowed down to this, and right in this moment, there is nowhere else she’d rather be.

Scylla makes one final, deep thrust and suddenly, Raelle’s whole body shakes. She moans loudly, clamping her thighs around Scylla’s head, trapping her in place as she comes. She clenches around Scylla’s fingers, eagerly sucking her further inside. Scylla groans against her clit, slowing her thrusts slightly, letting Raelle ride through it, wringing out every last pulse of pleasure.

Finally, the other girl slumps to the bed, sucking in air like she’s struggling to breathe.

She looks as wrung-out as Scylla feels.

“Wow,” Raelle breathes, rubbing her hands over her face as Scylla joins her at the top of the bed.

“Wow yourself,” Scylla licks the remnants of Raelle’s pleasure off her lips and chin and fingers. “I was not expecting that.”

“I wasn’t either.”

“You weren’t? I dunno, could have fooled me.”

“I wasn’t! I swear I came over just to talk but,” the other girl lets out a long yawn, “you inspired me.” 

Scylla grins, propping herself up on her elbow. “You can use me for inspiration any time you like.”

“Might take you up on that, beautiful.” Scylla can hear a hint of Raelle’s Cession drawl in her drowsy voice. 

“Sleepy? Where’s your stamina, Collar?”

“Sorry, I’ve had a pretty big day,” she yawns again. “Hey, Scylla?”

“Mhmm?”

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

Scylla stiffens. She’s never spent the night with someone. She could never wait for Porter to go as soon as they were done. His long, lanky limbs made her skin itch the second the heat ebbed from her body. As for Asha and the Blaster girl she met on Beltane, neither of them hung around long afterwards. Which suited Scylla just fine. 

Raelle seems intent on making Scylla’s decision for her. Her eyes are drooping as her head lolls on Scylla’s pillow. Her breath is beginning to even out and Scylla knows she only has a precious few seconds to make her mind.

But really, the decision was made for her the second Raelle asked so sweetly. Spending the night with her mark was not what was intended, but then forcing Raelle awake and making her walk to the other side of the base feels somewhat counterproductive to the mission.

“Sure,” she says, settling next to Raelle, pulling the blankets over them. She is surprised by how easy it is to curl into Raelle, how pleasant it is to feel their legs tangle together. 

“Thanks."

"It's okay. Go to sleep."

"G’night, Scylla.”

“Goodnight, Raelle.”

She thinks her mark is asleep before she turns off the light.

  
  


+++

Scylla starts, eyes snapping open, sweat sticking to her skin.

She’s used to waking to a room of perfect stillness. But she’s not alone. In the gloom she hears the scratch of shoes against the carpet.

It’s barely light out and there is someone. Here. In her room.

Does she need to run?

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Raelle says. Her voice sounds way too bright and alert for such an early hour. Scylla turns her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes and she spots Raelle pulling on her pants near the mirror. 

“Hi,” Scylla says hoarsely, willing her heartbeat to return to normal. She hates waking up with a jolt. It reminds her of the early days, back in the Spree safehouse before the Lady took her in. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I was going to say goodbye, but I didn’t want to wake you until I really, really had to go. Also… you look so beautiful when you sleep, so… ”

There’s a sultry reply on the tip of Scylla’s tongue but the words catch her throat. Instead she gapes at Raelle, her brain still foggy with sleep, and she’s only saved from further embarrassment when a bell tolls ominously in the distance. 

It’s only a little after dawn but the base is beginning to lurch into life. The army likes to dress its spite in duty, which is why cadets have to report to class before almost anyone else. 

Raelle sighs, biting her lip as she buckles her belt. There’s a nasty purple bruise blooming on Raelle’s jaw. 

A gift from Bellweather, no doubt. 

Now that her mark is busy Scylla allows herself a moment to stare. Raelle looks scruffy. Her rumpled uniform is only barely up to code and the blonde hair that isn’t braided is sticking out at odd angles. But the unkempt, boyish look _really_ works for her, and Scylla can’t help but shift a bit against the sheet as she’s reminded of where those dexterous fingers were just hours ago.

“Raelle,” she lets the sheets pool to her waist, exposing her chest to the morning air, “do you really have to go?”

Raelle’s eyes fall right where Scylla wants them. “Uhhh… I mean…” The third bell tolls. “Crap… I better… it’s just…” Raelle kisses her hurriedly while trying, and failing, not to look at Scylla’s chest. “I already got two demerits, _andmyunitisgonnakillme_ … and…”

“Fine,” Scylla smiles against her kisses, resisting the urge to pull Raelle back into bed. Her mark is still reluctant to burn all her bridges here at Fort Salem, but Scylla has time to work on that. 

“Sorry. I really am.”

“That’s okay,” Scylla longues back on the bed, not bothering to cover herself up. “I’ll find a way to entertain myself.”

Raelle doesn’t miss the innuendo. “Stop! You… are not helping.”

“Better buck up, Private. Don’t want to be late.”

Raelle chuckles, shaking her head, pulling away with the same weary reluctance Scylla feels. Just as Scylla thinks Raelle is about to go, she stops and turns around.

“Scylla?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come over tonight?”

“Yes, Raelle. I would like that very much.”

Scylla flops back on her bed, feeling an odd rush in her chest when she’s finally alone. She really couldn’t have asked for a better assignment. Raelle is an extremely charming and pleasant diversion. And ripe for turning. Her mark’s passion burns so bright, so clear. Raelle thinks the only way she can channel it is self-destructively, but Scylla knows better. The Spree can help Raelle harness her pain, sharpen it until it can cut through skin. 

Scylla will have so much to tell her handler next time she sees the balloon in the mirror. She won’t divulge everything, of course; she deserves privacy, even from the Spree. But the message will be clear: the mission is going better than she ever could have expected.

She’ll be extracted from Fort Salem in no time. 


	2. When the Colors Start to Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all for your kind responses to the last chapter, it really helped motivate me to write this one as quickly as I could. I promise, within the next 24 hours I will go back and respond to all the lovely comments you guys left on chapter one. Also, pour a drink out for brevity, since I thought this bad boy would be significantly shorter than 'Passion is Accurate', but ended up basically being the same word length. I am verbose like a boss.
> 
> This chapter takes place throughout episode two. Explicit lady loving ahead, but you knew that already.

She’s not used to being touched like she’s something precious.

It's almost like the last few days didn't happen. There’s no hesitation as Raelle kisses her softly, almost reverently. Her hands are cool and Scylla can’t help but lean against them, enjoying the soft press of her mark’s fingers against her skin. Less than a day ago Raelle was pulling away. Scylla had to make some hard decisions to keep Raelle attached without revealing herself in the process. But with every gentle brush of Raelle’s lips, Scylla knows she made the right call.

She's sure Helen Graves won't mind. It's all for a good cause.

Scylla’s haunches are beginning to ache and when Raelle pulls her just a bit closer her boots dig into the damp earth below. They’re in the middle of the forest, in a cemetery that overlooks the pageant. It should be tranquil here, but it’s not; they’re surrounded by the insistent chirping of crickets, and every so often a crow caws, but mostly Scylla hears Raelle; her ragged breaths as she pulls away before kissing Scylla again; how she sighs softly into Scylla’s mouth. It shouldn’t be romantic, not when Scylla can smell the fetid stench of the dead bird lying at their feet. But right at this moment, there isn’t another place Scylla would rather be.

“Mhmm.” Raelle pulls away, opening her eyes slowly, as if dazed. Her pale skin glows with every pulse of the fireflies that flit around them. “We should go.”

“Why?” Scylla’s hands tug at the front of Raelle’s dress blues. She hurriedly brings their mouths back together, tongue stroking Raelle's lower lip. It’s a bit sloppy but Scylla doesn’t care, not when Raelle eagerly kisses her back. 

“Scyl…”

“Why?” Scylla whines again. She can barely stand to tear her mouth away from Raelle’s. “The pageant is stupid.”

“It is,” Raelle agrees in between hurried kisses, fingers stroking Scylla’s chin. “But if we don’t go right now I might not be able to leave anytime soon…” 

Scylla knows that tone. It normally ends with the two of them naked. Getting fucked against a tombstone isn’t exactly sexy, but over the last few weeks she’s learned that when it comes to Raelle, it doesn’t take much for Scylla to spread her legs.

Raelle catches her expression. “We shouldn’t.”

“I know,” Scylla husks. Raelle's wet lips are glinting in the moonlight; it's hard not to stare.

“Seriously.” Raelle smiles ruefully, disentangling herself from Scylla with a slow shake of her head. “That uniform looks too good on you for me to, uh...wreck it.”

“Fine.” Scylla sighs dramatically, hoping her theatrics hide the flush on her cheeks. Running a hand through her hair, she casts one final look around the graveyard. As soon as they return to the pageant, Scylla has to pretend to be a good little soldier again. It’s exhausting. There’s only so much servitude and bootlicking she can stand. When will she get to unleash her own fire and fury? When will Alder bend to _her_ whim? “I hate the pageant, actually.”

Scylla wishes she could scoop her words back into her mouth. It's a little too outwardly defiant, a little too close to all the things she can't talk to Raelle about. Yet.

But Raelle is full of surprises tonight. "I know. I hate it too. But you know what I don't hate?" She grabs Scylla's hands, tugging her to her feet. "Cotton candy. Deep-fried Oreos. Those cream pies. I swear I saw a cream pie stall, and you definitely can't get them in the Cession. C'mon. You like cream pies. I know it. We can come back and look at dead things later."

"What’s wrong with dead things? I like dead things."

"I know. Sexy weird, remember?” Raelle leads her away from the tombstones. “But I bet you also like fried Oreos. And cream pies."

"Fine. I also like cream pies."

Their army regulation boots squelch loudly in the undergrowth. "See? Knew I could tempt you." 

"This better be worth it, Raelle. If I have to stop kissing you, I want to be properly compensated."

"Huh." Raelle grins slyly. "I never said anything about not kissing."

"Clever," Scylla teases. Raelle’s blue eyes gleam in the gloom, and before Scylla can blink they’re crashing into each other greedily. It’s incredible, she thinks as she threads her fingers through the other girl’s braids, pulling her close, parched for Raelle all over again. Every time Scylla kisses her mark she’s surprised anew by how much she likes it.

They’re interrupted by a frantic cry from below. Scylla tries to ignore it, tries to stay in their cocoon just a little longer, but then the cry becomes a scream, and then the scream is joined by other shrieks of terror. 

From this vantage point they can see the entire pageant. Scylla had hoped it was nothing, but there’s no mistaking the chaos: civilians are running everywhere. Even from where Scylla is standing, the fear is palpable. 

“What the…?” Raelle murmurs, pulling away.

“Think someone has a gun?”

Raelle’s mouth is a grim line. “It could be the Spree.”

“It can’t be.”

“You don’t know that.”

Scylla’s stomach drops. She doesn’t know that. But surely the Spree wouldn’t attack without telling her first? She’s their asset at Fort Salem. An asset entrusted with recruiting Raelle. 

Her handler hasn’t told her why they’re interested in a barely trained cadet, but surely they wouldn’t risk their potential asset? Surely it makes no sense to launch an attack when their mark could be there, too?

Surely they know Raelle is too important to lose.

“Raelle, we should get going…”

“I can’t. My unit is still down there.”

“So? They can handle themselves.I know a way out of here, let’s go.”

“I can’t.” Raelle whirls around, pulling Scylla towards her. She kisses her hard. When she abruptly pulls away, Scylla's lips tingle. 

“I gotta go,” Raelle whispers frantically. “But you should get out of here, Scyl. Just in case.”

“Raelle, wait, you can’t just run off…”

“Tally and Abigail might need me. I have to find them. But...I can’t worry about you, too. Please, Scylla.”

“Raelle…”

Raelle’s clammy hands cradle Scylla’s face. “I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you, Scylla.” She kisses Scylla again, softly this time, in a way that feels final. “Go back to the barracks. I’ll come find you after this is all over, I promise.” 

“Okay,” Scylla swallows thickly. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” And with that, Raelle turns, sprinting straight towards danger like it’s nothing. Like it’s not absolutely the opposite thing that a sane person would do. Especially since she owes the army, and her unit, absolutely nothing. She doesn’t even like them. Well, she likes Tally, but everyone likes Tally. She’s contemptuous of Bellweather. Not like High and Mighty doesn’t deserve it. 

Bellwether is even more pompous up close. “Necro,” she had sneered at the pizza parlor, as if Scylla was something she’d scraped off her shoe. Frankly, witch or not, Scylla wouldn’t lift a finger to help a High Atlantic, and a Bellweather, especially. But not so Raelle, who seems determined to run headfirst into danger for those who don’t deserve it.

Gallantry is fine in fairy tales, but in Alder’s world, it just means the monster devours you sooner. 

She makes her way cautiously down the slope. Raelle is long gone. But if this is the Spree, then Scylla needs to know what’s going on. She won’t be able to protect Raelle otherwise.

She’s near the pageant’s back entrance - most of the civilians are running in the opposite direction, which means the threat must have originated from nearby.

She listens closely, poised on the balls of her feet, ready to defend herself. The Spree’s Work leaves a residue, a trace, in its wake. It’s small, subtle. Too subtle for someone as pigheaded as Alder to notice. But while the abandoned stalls and deserted rides are eerie, there is nothing to indicate the Spree launched an attack. In fact, there’s no sign of Work at all.

There is, however, a group of teenage boys who look far too self-satisfied to be innocent.

They’re lolling on a rickety wooden fence, chuckling to one another as they pass around a bottle in a brown paper bag. The faint cries of civilians are wafting through the air, but these teens look completely at ease.

Scylla catches the eye of the tallest one, a reedy beanpole of a boy. She lifts her chin in a challenge. She’s spent her life around civilians; she knows how to snare one in a trap. 

“Can I help you with something, ma’am?” the boy asks, taking the bait. He shoves his hands in his pockets, ambling towards her. He’s trying to look innocent but Scylla can tell by the way his lips twitch that he’s suppressing a grin. 

“I think you can. What happened here?”

“The Spree, that’s what happened. They let off a balloon and then…it was chaos. But shouldn’t you know that?” He looks her up and down, lingering on her dress blues. “You’re supposed to be protecting us, after all.”

“Protecting _you_ from the Spree? Let’s just say that’s not my prerogative. So I’m going to ask again, what happened here?”

The boy cocks his head, his lank, dark hair falling into his eyes. The moonlight catches his face, and with a jolt Scylla realizes he’s probably her age, even though he still looks so _young_. “I told you. The Spree were here. Now...aren’t you supposed to run off and fight them? That’s what you and...your kind...do, right?”

“My kind? If you knew what my kind could do, you’d never leave whatever hole you crawled out from. So I’ll ask. One. Final. Time.” Her voice drops, her throat straining hard to craft the seed she needs. “What happened?”

Her words drip into the boy’s ears, worming into his consciousness. His eyes glaze as the Work insinuates into his mind. 

“We released a balloon,” he says dully. “Told a passerby it was Spree. Everybody freaked out.”

“I see.” Scylla is straining every sinew not to windstrike this human pimple. “This is what you’re going to do now. You’re going to find the nearest police officer and tell them what you’ve done. Tell the officer everything. Except for me. Leave me out of it.” She smiles, patting his cheek, enjoying the stupefied look on his face. “What are you waiting for? Go.”

He nods staggering towards Salem Town. His friends call out for him, alarmed. A couple of them look for her, but Scylla’s good at hiding, melting into the darkness like a scrap of black quilt.

She smiles to herself as the boys scamper away. She still gets a thrill out of illicit Work. She enjoys all of it. If she had to choose, taking a vessel's face is the most fun. But she can’t deny that manipulating the minds of the weak isn’t also deeply satisfying. 

It’s a new skill. She never learned this trick growing up. Her parents abhorred this kind of Work. They thought it was a perversion to take advantage of civilians, no matter how badly they were provoked. It was antithetical to their pacifist ways.

And look where that got them.

She loved her parents, she really did, but the older she gets, the more she realizes witches can’t be squeamish when it comes to their power. The Spree sees that clearly. It was the Lady who taught Scylla this particular skill, in those few, heady months before she enlisted, when she needed to learn enough banned Work to be an asset while at Fort Salem. She’s still not as powerful as she’d like; the boy will be enthralled for ten minutes, max. 

But she doesn’t need a lot of time. She just needs enough.

+++

She takes the long way home, walking from Salem Town to Fort Salem. It’s an arduous walk, up some pretty steep slopes, but she enjoys stretching her legs. Scylla hasn’t properly hiked since her father was murdered; she likes to find small ways to honor him.

Sneaking back onto the base is easy. It’s Saturday night; most of the base has Sunday off, which means security is more lax than normal. She heads past the Medea dorms towards Circe barracks. It may have been a false alarm, but it’s still her duty to make sure her mark is safe. 

She can see a small gaggle of cadets in front of their barracks, talking excitedly. It’s probably the most excitement these girls have had in months. Scylla looks for a flash of blonde hair but can’t see Raelle anywhere.

A small, dark-haired cadet catches her eye. She’s standing next to Glory, the tiny, sweet-smiling cadet Scylla met at the pizza parlor a few hours ago. Glory grins broadly, waving at her. Before Scylla can reply, Glory’s hand drops as the other girl whispers into her ear. Whatever she said made an impression; Glory can’t scuttle back to the Circe barracks fast enough. 

Left alone, the other girl saunters towards Scylla. She’s pretty, in a Gothic kind of way: pale skin, ringlet hair, and eyes as black as ink. 

“A little birdie told me your name is Scylla.”

“The bird’s name is Glory.”

“Funny.” The girl extends her hand. “Swythe. Libba.”

Swythe. No wonder she has an aristocratic smirk. Scylla takes the High Atlantic’s hand, squeezing tighter than she needs to. “Scylla Ramshorn.”

“Scylla Ramshorn.” Libba says her name with relish. “So you’re the Necro everyone is talking about. Should have known Chippewa would have good taste.”

Scylla tries very hard to hide her scowl. “Where is Raelle?”

“Tally dragged her inside. Something about unit unity. I don’t know, that girl talks wayyyyy too fast.” Libba’s pert lips curve coquettishly. “Oh, but don’t you worry. Raelle was out here for ages, looking for you. We had to stop her from going straight to your quarters.”

“Why?”

“There’s a party and her presence is required. Hmm." Libba cocks her head, looking at Scylla in a way that almost makes her squirm. “It’s for cadets only, but Bellweather would just _hate_ it if someone invited you…”

Scylla bites back a laugh. Swythe may be a High Atlantic, but a mutual loathing of Abigail Bellweather is something they have in common. “Well. If someone did invite me, I’d have to turn her down. I have to study.”

“All work and no play makes for a dull witch. And you don’t strike me as dull.”

“Funny. Tell Raelle to come see me tonight. I’ll be up late anyway.”

“About that. Don’t you think you’ve charged each other up enough? Can’t someone else get a turn?” Libba flutters her eyelashes. “I promise to bring Raelle back after I’m done.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t share.”

“Territorial. Chippewa’s worth it, I suppose. Okay, new suggestion. Why don’t I go find Raelle and we can go back to yours and get all...charged...together?”

“Tempting. But like I said: I. Don’t. Share.”

“Okay then, message received.” If Libba hears the snarl in Scylla’s tone, she doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems amused. “But you should know I’m not the only one who wants to take Raelle off your hands.”

“Noted. Go back to the party, but tell Raelle I’m _really_ looking forward to seeing her later.” Scylla plasters a smile to her face. “It’s been a pleasure, Libba Swythe.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Scylla Ramshorn.”

+++

She’s too restless to read when she returns to her room, Libba’s words rattling around her head like a marble. She’s been so focused on her task, she hasn't considered that some of Raelle’s fellow cadets could be competition. In retrospect, it’s not surprising. Raelle is gorgeous, with her short cropped hair, easy smile, and tomboyish swagger...what red-blooded witch _wouldn’t_ want her?

Scylla’s desire certainly hasn’t waned. Raelle has stayed over almost every night for the past few weeks. Only a few days ago they fucked until the cusp of dawn. She’s certain Raelle wants her. She’s certain Raelle needs her. 

But...witches aren’t known for their fidelity. Some claim it’s unnatural, to want to be with one person, and only one person. Are the other witches telling Raelle that? Are there other cadets trying to weasel their way into her heart? Make Raelle forget herself, forget Scylla?

Could someone else compromise her mission?

_“You’re...so beautiful”_

Raelle had whispered those words to Scylla, as soft as a prayer, only a few hours ago. She had cupped Scylla’s face, fingers stroking skin before bringing their lips together in a kiss so gentle it made Scylla shiver right down to her toes. Raelle can’t be faking that. She can’t be faking it when she sighs as Scylla runs her fingers through her tousled hair. Or when she cries out as Scylla drags the flat of her tongue against the inside of her thigh. There’s nothing disingenuous about the wide-eyed sweetness of her expression as she lays in Scylla’s rumpled sheets, sweat-slick and sated. Or her silly grin as she peppers Scylla’s face with soft kisses in the morning, pressing their bodies so close there isn’t any space between them at all. 

There’s no faking that.

The air around Scylla stiffens and cools, making the hairs on her arm prick up. Unfamiliar words, guttural and ancient, reverberate in Scylla’s ears. She knows a little Mothertongue, but this is more sophisticated than anything she has learned.

She glances at her watch. Right on time. As usual.

Scylla gets up from the bed just as the balloon appears, boobing benignly at her.

 _“Status update_ _._ _”_

“No hello, how are you? How’s the weather?”

The balloon floats but no words are breathed into the mirror.

Jesus. Would it have killed the Lady to assign her a Spree handler with a sense of humor? Scylla sighs, squaring her shoulders and folding her hands behind her back. “The mission is going well. She’s mine.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“Positive. What do I do next?”

_“Stay the course.”_

“When will we be extracted?”

_“Impossible to say.”_

Helpful. Scylla resists the urge to roll her eyes. Why is her handler making things difficult? “Make sure it’s soon. I’m getting impatient.”

 _“Come closer._ ”

Scylla's heart begins to canter. This is unusual. Is her handler showing her a new piece of Work? Scylla steps towards her mirror, closer, and closer again, until…

The balloon lunges forward, shattering the glass. Scylla flinches, staggering backwards, half expecting glass to slice into her skin. 

But it’s just an illusion. As if satisfied it has made its point, the balloon disappears in a fog of condensation, leaving Scylla gasping and panting in its wake. 

Now the apparition has finished, Scylla’s mirror has returned to normal. When Scylla reaches out to cautiously brush her fingers over its surface, it’s cool and smooth to the touch. As if it was never there at all.

Scylla scowls. She’s shaking, whether from anger or shock, she doesn’t know. What she _does_ know is that her Spree handler has a lot of nerve. Who the hell do they think they are? The first time Scylla demands something, she’s shut down? She knows she’s not exactly high on the totem pole, but she should be afforded some respect. She’s done things for the Spree. Awful, horrible things that would be enough to get her sent to some hellhole prison ten times over. 

And now, with this new assignment, Scylla is still holding up _her_ end of the bargain. The asset is hers. Raelle, with all her bright, burning fury, with her contempt for the military, is practically Spree already. Sure, there is a residual loyalty to her unit. But that’s all the more reason they should be extracted sooner. Before Raelle, with her generous heart, is duped into thinking she owes the military a grudging kind of allegiance. Before she swallows their bullshit that the burning times are over.

She needs to get Raelle out of Fort Salem. 

Scylla understands that, even if her handler doesn’t.

+++

She contemplates sneaking into the rough room just to let off some steam, but if she does that, she risks missing out on seeing Raelle again tonight. So, she tries to concentrate on her notes. She can normally tune out everything when she’s studying, but tonight it’s hard. If she’s not thinking about her Spree handler, then she’s thinking about Raelle, drunk and happy, surrounded by witches who would spread their legs for her at a moment's notice.

She resists the urge to crash the party herself. Even if the prospect of infuriating Abigail is almost too good to pass up, she needs to trust Raelle. And she’s rewarded, because a little later, there she is, face flushed and eyes bright as she leans against Scylla’s door frame. She’s still wearing her dress blue slacks, but instead of the top, she’s thrown on a worn-grey hoodie.

“Evening, beautiful.”

“C’mere,” Scylla says, not bothering to be sultry. She tugs Raelle forward, knitting her fingers into her hoodie, bringing their lips together with a soft thud. She pulls Raelle through the door, barely letting it shut before pinning the other girl against it.

“Hi,” Raelle gasps in between kisses.

“Hi.” Scylla deepens the kiss, tasting an unfamiliar liquor on Raelle’s tongue.

“It’s so good to see you,” Raelle sighs shakily, breaking away and leaning her head back. Scylla takes advantage of her newly exposed neck, lavishing Raelle’s pale skin with bites and kisses. “Sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

“It’s fine.” Scylla nuzzles Raelle’s clavicle, breathing in her scent. “You’re here now.”

“You heard about what happened?”

“Yeah.” Scylla pulls away reluctantly, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe some teenager let off a balloon.”

“Yeah, real comedy show. Still.” Raelle grins, brushing a stray hair from Scylla’s face. “Tally windstruck a civilian.”

Tally? That perky, earnest witch, whose blind devotion to the military would be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic. “What? _Tally_?”

“Yep.” Raelle wraps an arm around Scylla’s waist. For the first time, Scylla notices Raelle is holding a large liquor bottle.“He was being an ass, apparently.”

“Jeez. Windstriking a civilian is hardly up to code. Quartermaine must have killed her.”

“Nah, Abigail covered for her. So we went back to the dorms to celebrate.”

“I can see.” Scylla nods towards the bottle. “What is it? It doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before.”

“Oh, sorry, is my breath bad?”

“On the contrary.” Scylla brushes her lips against Raelle’s, pressing her body against hers. “You always taste good.”

“ _Scylla_.” Raelle squirms. A flush as thick as red ink across a page is blooming on her cheeks. “You’re….very distracting.”

“Guilty.” Scylla takes Raelle’s free hand, tugging her towards the bed. “What is it?” 

“A Glory-homemade concoction. Apparently, brewing your own liquor is totally fine in a matrifocal compound.”

“Wait.” Scylla sits on the bed, making room for Raelle next to her. “A matrifocal compound? They’re the ones that ban men, right?”

“Yep, no dudes, like ever, apparently.”

“Huh. Something tells me you would have enjoyed that growing up.”

“I sure as hell would have taken advantage of it more than Tally did.” She must pick up on Scylla’s confusion because she clarifies. “She’s a virgin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, let’s just say she’s _realllllllly_ looking forward to Beltane.”

Scylla drags the tips of her fingers teasingly up Raelle’s leg. It’s only been a few hours, but it still feels like forever since she’s seen Raelle. And it’s not _Scylla’s_ fault that it’s getting harder to ignore the pleasant hum between her thighs. “Who needs Beltane, when we can have our own celebration?”

“Scylla,” Raelle whimpers as Scylla kisses her. “Wait…”

“What’s wrong?” Scylla murmurs, planting butterfly kisses against Raelle’s jaw. The other girl is shaking, and it’s taking every inch of Scylla’s resolve not to drop to her knees and spread Raelle’s legs. 

“Scyl…”

“What?” Something twists in Scylla’s gut. “You don’t want to?”

“Are you kidding me? I _always_ want to.” Raelle threads a hand through her hair, blonde hair slipping through her fingers. “I was just hoping first...we could hang out. Drink some of Glory’s moonshine. Play cards...that sort of thing...”

“Play cards...and...hang out?”

“Yeah. I just...like spending time with you.” Raelle ducks her head, all bashful, and just for a second, Scylla’s heart falters. “That’s all.”

“I like spending time with you too.” Scylla kisses Raelle’s fingers, one by one. “But you should know that I am very good at card games.”

“You are? All of them? Yeah, right.”

“I’ll just have to show you.” Scylla grazes the tip of Raelle’s ring finger with her teeth. “What are you waiting for, Private? Scared of losing already?”

“Oh, you’re in for it now. Let’s play.”

+++

It’s not like they don’t talk with one another. It’s just that they normally fuck first. But this is just as lovely, Scylla thinks, as she takes her place on the floor across from across Raelle, watching as the other girl nimbly shuffles a tattered deck of cards. Scylla takes a swig of Glory’s moonshine, trying not to wince at its bitter aftertaste.

“You should go slow. Glory wasn’t kidding around when she made that.”

“I’m fine. What are we playing?”  
“Something simple, but fun. You heard of Slapjack?”

Heard of it? Scylla ignores the pang in her chest. It was her father’s favorite game. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Great. So you know the rules?”

“Sure do.”

“No you don’t, because we’re playing Slapjack, Cession style.”

“Cession style? Sounds dangerous. What’s that?”

“It just involves some extra rules. First, we keep the Joker in. No card game worth its salt should exclude the Joker. However, if you put the Joker down, you have to drink.”

“Drink?” Scylla hands Raelle the bottle, watching as the other girl nonchalantly takes a deep swig.

“Sure. That's how we do it in the Cession.”

“Okay. What else?”

“If you manage to snare two Queens in a row, and you slap the cards first, then you get to make the _other_ person drink.”

“Cession Slapjack involves way more drinking than I remember.” Scylla smiles, looking up at Raelle through her eyelashes. “Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”

“I don’t need to get you drunk to do that.”

“Touche.” She threads her fingers through Raelle’s. “What are you waiting for?”

++++

“Two Queens! Drink, drink, drink!”

“You’re...not bad at this,” Scylla concedes, taking a swig of the moonshine. She needs to focus, because she’s getting precariously low on cards.

“I should be good. I’ve played this game my whole life.”  
“You have?”

“It was my mom’s favorite.” Raelle’s smile is small and fond. “Me and Dad would team up, try and distract her, but it was hard. She has...had...really fast reflexes.”

 _Slap._ Reminiscing hasn’t dulled Raelle’s wit. She slaps the Jack that Scylla just put down.

“I think you inherited your mom’s reflexes.”

“Yeah. She said I was good at this. But she was biased. She thought I was good at everything.”

“She was right.” Another miss. Raelle gathers up another wad of cards, adding it to the large pile in front of her lap. 

“We had family card nights. Every Tuesday when Mom wasn’t away on tour.”

It’s a cheap form of entertainment, too. Like Raelle, Scylla didn’t have a lot growing up. Even if they could afford luxuries, being a Dodger meant travelling light. Cards became an invaluable source of entertainment. Something her family could do together, whether in their suburban New York hideout, or while they were travelling through the outskirts of the Cession in their busted pickup. 

“How often did your mom go on tour?”  
A small frown mars Raelle’s perfect skin as she places a card down. “A lot.”

“Why? The Army has plenty of Fixers.”

“I think they wanted to make a point.” Raelle glances at Scylla. Their eyes meet for only a second, but Scylla can see her rage, burning righteously hot. “’Cause she married a civilian.”

“I see. It was a punishment, then. The Army wanted to punish her. For loving the wrong person.”

“Something like that.”

Scylla bites her lip so hard it hurts. She can hear the Lady’s voice in her mind, urging her on.

_“Your pain is a weapon,” she had told her once, sitting on Scylla’s bed in the Cession safehouse. She pinned Scylla in place with those pale, unerring eyes. “Use it against them. If you embrace it, there’s nothing you won’t be able to do.”_

The Lady is right. Raelle shouldn’t have to shoulder her grief alone. Scylla poured her pain into the Spree, but Raelle? What did she have? How did she cope?

Scylla sees her, a small child with a shock of unkempt blonde hair, face pressed against a smudged window, watching the cars go by and wondering when her mother would come home.

It’s fucked. So completely and utterly fucked. At least Scylla had her parents growing up. She should know better by now, but somehow, she’s still surprised by the depths of the military’s cruelty. Punishing a wayward witch's child isn’t an accident; it’s the _point_ , and if Alder walked in right now, Scylla’s certain she’d gouge her eyes out.

“Scylla? Scyl? You okay? You zoned out for a second there.”

“Sorry.” Scylla’s face grows hot. 

“You okay?”

Raelle’s face is open, earnest. Scylla feels her heart flutter softly against her chest.

Maybe, just this once, the mission can wait. 

“I’m fine really.” Scylla hopes she sounds nonchalant. “Just thinking about how you’re kicking my ass.”

She puts her final card down. It’s a Jack. Scylla waits for a split second, lets Raelle slap it, lets her win.  
“That so?” Raelle says. She doesn’t sound like she believes Scylla, but she plays along nonetheless, because maybe she wants to forget too, just for one night.

“Let me guess. Loser has to drink more of Glory’s abomination?”

“How’d you know? Looks like you’re getting used to Cession Slapjack.”

“Yeah, yeah…” She grabs the bottle off Raelle. She makes a show of pursing her lips around the rim, enjoying Raelle’s rapturous attention. “Best of three, then.”

“Three? You wanna keep losing, huh?”

“Who says I’m going to lose?”

“Uh, precedent.”

“Funny. Okay then,” Scylla says. She takes a languorous sip of her drink, making sure to keep Raelle’s attention as she licks her lips. “Let’s make it a wager. Whoever wins best of three gets to ask the other witch to do.... anything she wants.”

Raelle raises an eyebrow in that cocksure way of hers. Scylla feels a throb of heat dart straight between her legs.

“Anything, huh?”

“Absolutely anything.”

“You’ve got yourself a wager, Scylla Ramshorn.”

+++

When you’re up against a formidable opponent, Scylla knows you have to work with whatever natural advantages you have.

“Almost, Raelle, nice try,” Scylla says. She’s beaten Raelle to the punch by a fraction of a section; her hand still stings from where Raelle hit it.

“You’re concentrating this time.” 

“Why wouldn’t I concentrate when there’s a very...enticing reward?”

“Enticing?” Raelle puts down a card. An ace of hearts. 

“I’m just thinking about _all_ the things you’re going to do to me. When I win.”

Raelle’s eyes widen. She’s distracted for a split second, but it’s all Scylla needs, as the next card she flips over is a Jack.

“You’re cheating.”

“Not my fault you can’t concentrate.” Scylla smirks, taking the large wad of cards from the centre circle. She puts down another card. A two of clubs.

“I’m fin….. _dammit!”_

“Now, what is the rule in Cession Slapjack when a player puts down a Joker? I can’t seem to remember…”

“Shut up,” Raelle groans, but her smile is good-natured. She takes the bottle of Glory’s-rapidly-diminishing moonshine from Scylla. “Good thing I can handle my alcohol. Not sure I can say the same for you.”

It’s true, Scylla does feel a little fuzzy, but in a warm, sleepy- way, as if she’s cocooned in a blanket. 

“Stop trying to distract me.” She puts down six of clubs. The stack of cards sitting between them is getting bigger while Raelle’s own hand is dwindling fast; if Scylla slaps the next Jack before Raelle, she’s almost certain to win. “I’m concentrating.”

“Concentrating? Still scared you’re going to lose?” Raelle puts down a two of diamonds.

“Well, I need to be cautious.” Scylla’s voice dips. “I know how good you are with your hands.”

Raelle’s next card is a Jack, but she’s too dazed to comprehend it. Quick as a viper, Scylla smashes her hand down. 

“That…”

“...is called winning.”

Raelle rubs her mouth, face twisted in dismay, in shock, as if she can’t quite comprehend how victory squirreled from her grasp. Scylla thinks she still looks beautiful, even with her mouth hanging open and her face all scrunched up. 

“Well...credit where credit is due,” Raelle says eventually, taking a rueful swig of her drink. “You’re not half bad.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe we should try a different game, though. For the decider.”

A different game? Scylla’s not sure about that. Raelle is on the backfoot, and Scylla has been trained to exploit weakness. And the prize is too great to give up. 

Raelle. Any way she wants her.

She’s had Raelle a dozen times. More. But she craves her, still.

 _Goddess_ , she craves her.

“Why should we do that?” Scylla’s voice is raspier than she intended.

“I like taking risks. Don’t you?”

If Raelle was a civilian, she’d be a doctor; her words cut Scylla with a surgical precision. Scylla shifts against the floor, the hum between her legs melting to a dull roar.

“How risky do you want to get?”

“Bullshit.”

Scylla blinks. “Sorry?”

“Bullshit. It’s a game. Have you played it?”

She has. She was the best in her family at this game. She was excellent at calling her parents’ bluff.

It's fun but it also feels…a little risky. A little too much like they’re chafing against the _thing_ they’re not supposed to; Raelle won’t ask about Scylla’s past until Scylla can find a version she’s comfortable with sharing.

And now Raelle wants to see how good a bluffer Scylla can be.

“I-I think I know how.”

“My mom was good at this one too.” Raelle is looking down at the floor. Her voice is quiet, contemplative, as if she’s mulling over an old memory. “No one could ever call her bluff. Even my dad. And he knew her before she answered the call.”

“Your mom sounds like she was an incredible woman.”

“She was. She would have liked you.”

“I _am_ charming,” Scylla says, but her voice sounds thin even to her own ears. Truth be told, she’s never met any of her lover's parents. The Blaster girl was only a one-time Beltane thing, and Asha’s folks were still in hiding when their daughter joined the Spree. She never even met Porter’s parents, despite them living only a few streets away from her own.

It’s probably for the best. She’s hardly daughter-in-law material anyway. The Ramshorns are an ancient bloodline; Scylla has a history, but not a past. Or, not a past she can divulge to anyone. In Alder’s world, Dodgers are reviled. But a Dodger with blood on her hands? Scylla will be sent to a black hole so dark she’d be lucky if she ever saw the sun again. 

“So,” Raelle says. Her tone is mild but Scylla swears she can hear an edge to her voice. “Do you want to play?”

She doesn’t, not really, but she’s never been good at saying no to Raelle.

+++

There are just the two of them, so the game doesn’t get interesting until they’re both running low on cards.

“I have two eights.”

Scylla quickly tabulates her remaining cards. They didn’t halve the deck, since then it would be too easy to calculate the other person’s missing cards. She searches Raelle’s face and sees no lie.

“Fine. _I_ have three fives.”

“Fine.” Raelle takes a sip of the moonshine, eyes never leaving Scylla’s face. Both of them are running dangerously low on cards. A miscalculation now would be disastrous. “I have three sixes.”

It’s probable she does. “Fine.” Scylla glances at her hand for a fraction of a second. 

She doesn’t have any sevens. Loads of ones, fives, threes, and Queens, but no sevens.

She doesn’t want to drag this game out too long. She already knows what she’s going to demand as payment for winning this wager. Raelle’s face is gorgeous, always, but she’d like to know what it feels like to ride it. Scylla’s a bit hot and achy already, at just the thought of coming undone while staring down at those bright, blue eyes. 

“I have two sevens,” Scylla says casually, placing the card down flat on the pile between them.

“Bullshit.”

Scylla swears her heart stops. “What?”

“Bullshit. I’m calling your bullshit. You don't even have _one_ seven.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I guess I don’t, but if I’m wrong I’m about to find out. Show me, Scylla.”

She has to struggle to control her breathing. The pile is huge. Raelle’s advantage will be almost insurmountable.

“Scylla.”

“...Alright.”

She flips her cards over.

A one. A five. A King. An ace.

No sevens.

“Aha! I called it! I called your bullshit. Yes!”

“You haven’t won yet.” Scylla’s mouth is dry. She picks up the remainder of the cards. They feel so heavy in her palm.

“I’m pretty close, though, even you gotta admit. I wonder, I wonder...what do I want you to do?”

Raelle smirks, raking her eyes over Scylla like she's a gift she can't wait to unwrap. Scylla's traitorous body is already so fucking turned on by the idea of giving Raelle whatever she wants, sinking to her knees and letting her take, take, take, but her mind is more determined than the ache between her legs. 

“You haven’t won yet. Keep going already.”

“Okayyyy.” Raelle is grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I have _one_ eight.”

Don’t panic. She needs to not panic...“Bullshit.”

“Sorry, beautiful. I tell you no lies.”

Shit. _Shit._ Raelle has two cards left. Scylla has one chance to salvage this.

“Okay. I have...four nines.”

“I know you do. Because you now have _all_ the cards.” 

“Funny.”

“Yeah, it is. This situation is hilarious to me. Okay, okay, I have...two tens.”

“Bullshit,” Scylla says weakly.

“Sorry, can’t help you there.” She places the cards down, and there it is. Two tens. “A valiant effort, Private Ramshorn, but a futile one in the end.”

“Okay.” Scylla’s mouth is like a desert. “You win.”

“I do win.”

“...Okay...what...do you want me to do?”

“Something extremely enjoyable. But, hey…” Raelle takes Scylla's hands in hers, words tumbling out too quickly. “I don’t want you doing anything you're not comfortable with. You can say no at any time…"

“Raelle. What do you want me to do?”

“Okay," Raelle takes a deep breath and it occurs to Scylla that Raelle might be nervous. "Um...I wanna watch you. I wanna watch you take your dress blues off.”

“You...want me to strip, for you?”

“Yeah. You look really good in uniform. And I want to watch you take it off.” She catches Scylla’s gaze. “Slowly.”

 _Fuck_. 

She’s not sure why she’s nervous. She shouldn’t be. It’s not as if Raelle hasn’t seen Scylla naked. But there’s something strangely intimate about undressing for Raelle, taking off her layers, exposing herself piece by piece. She thought she was a temptress, she thought _she_ was going to be the one calling the shots, but somewhere along the line Scylla lost control of...whatever it is between them. 

Raelle’s face is flushed with arousal but she doesn’t push, just sits, legs sprawled on the floor; looking at Scylla with such open affection that the decision is made for her, there and then.

“Give me that.” Scylla drains the moonshine completely before setting the bottle on her bedside table and turning to face Raelle. “You want a show, Private? Then I’ll give you one you’ll never forget.”

Raelle grins as she scrambles to sit on the edge of Scylla's bed, foot bopping on the floor as if she can't wait. 

_Okay._

Scylla sucks in a deep breath in order to calm her racing heart. She starts with her coat. The buttons are large and ornate and they come undone with a loud pop. She undoes them one at a time, her fingers stiff and clumsy, and tries to remember Raelle’s demand: _slowly._

The heavy blue jacket slides off her arms, falling to the floor with a dull thud. She dispenses with the black dress sash before kicking the jacket away and untucking her regulation grey shirt.

Scylla’s fingers travel downward. She loves watching Raelle dress every morning, and it seems the other girl is enraptured too, staring at Scylla with open longing as she slowly undoes her belt buckle, letting her pants fall to her feet. 

Shit. Her boots.

How does she make undoing her _boots_ sexy? Goddess, she should have thought this through. Scylla ducks her head, cheeks burning, undoing her laces as quickly as her shaky fingers will let her. She feels about as attractive as a newborn deer as she tugs her shoes and socks off.

"Stupid boots," Scylla mutters. 

Raelle wolf whistles and Scylla resists the urge to throw her socks at her. The fond expression on Raelle’s face is sweet, except Scylla doesn’t want _sweet_. She wants to make Raelle burn. 

“Look at me, Raelle.”

She stands, shedding her grey shirt quickly before reaching behind and unclasping her bra, holding Raelle’s gaze the whole time as she lets the straps fall from her shoulders, leaving her standing only in her underwear. The air is cool but her skin feels flushed, burning as Raelle's gaze lingers on her uncovered chest…

They groan in unison as Scylla starts to palm her breasts. Scylla loves it when Raelle plays with her boobs, cradling and pinching them softly with her calloused hands. Scylla, though, is greedy. She roughly squeezes them, holding Raelle’s gaze as she palms her skin. She’s barely touched herself but she’s so fucking turned on already, and Raelle is _not_ helping, biting her lip as she stares at Scylla with wide, needy eyes. 

A spike of heat scythes through Scylla as she rolls her nipples between her thumb and forefinger. They’re hard already, and she has to resist the urge to close her eyes and imagine it’s Raelle who is touching her, stroking and squeezing and sucking at her tits until Scylla is panting and begging for more.

“God, Scyl….”

Raelle’s voice is hoarse, her lips bitten a pretty pink. She’s holding the edge of the bed like she’s scared she’s going to tumble off as Scylla continues to stroke and squeeze her tits. Scylla has to bite back a smirk. Raelle looks hazy with desire already and Scylla’s barely begun.

“Raelle…”

Scylla makes sure the other girl is looking when she brings her hand up to her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and sucking two fingers sweetly. She slides her tongue against her skin, wetting her fingers more than strictly necessary, but enough to let Raelle’s imagination run wild. 

She pulls them out with a soft pop before trailing her hand downwards, mapping the contours of her own skin. She can feel the drag of her own saliva on her body as she slowly slides her hand over her breast, down past her ribs and lower, and lower still…

_Fuck._

Her underwear is damp. Scylla cups herself, feels the pulsing heat beating underneath her fingertips.

“ _Jesus_. Scylla…”

“You wanted a show, didn’t you?” Scylla can barely recognize her voice. “Do you want more?”

“You know I do.”

She starts to stroke herself. “Like this?”

“Christ, Scylla…yes. Just like that.”

She strokes her clit. She feels it twitch through the thin, damp cotton. “Like this?”

Raelle whimpers, gripping the edge of Scylla’s bed. “Fuck. Yeah. Just like that.”

Scylla strokes herself a few more times. She can’t help but cant her hips upwards, grinding against her fingers, trying to sate the low, persistent drumbeat of her desire. Raelle's face is flushed as she stares, eyes darting between Scylla’s face and her hand, like she isn’t sure what to focus on. Scylla feels a low thrill of vindication at knocking Raelle so completely off her axis.

But the show must go on. Scylla smirks, dipping her fingers just underneath the waistband of her underwear. “Like this?”

“ _Fuck._ Take them off, Scylla.”

The growl in Raelle’s voice makes Scylla flood with desire. She resists the urge to squeeze her legs together, just to take the edge off the ache. She hooks her fingers in the waistband, shimmying her underwear off as quickly as she can. She doesn’t bother with finesse, not when -

They moan together as Scylla’s fingers slip down her folds. She’s wetter than she expected. It makes her needy. She should be slowing down, giving Raelle a show she’ll never forget, but she can’t stop herself. Can’t stop when she can _hear_ the lewd squelch as her fingers stroke her clit.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Scylla. _Jesus_.”

“Raelle…” she groans, her legs beginning to shake as she swirls her fingers around her clit faster, her desire stoked every time she pushes down.

“Come here... just…come here. _Please_.”

She’s there within a second, straddling Raelle and kissing her so hard that their teeth clack together. Raelle groans into Scylla’s mouth, one hand twisting in Scylla’s hair, the other pulling her close, fingers sinking into her back. Their kisses are frantic, more like a breathless gasping as Scylla pulls at Raelle’s clothes.

“Raelle…” she moans against Raelle’s lips. She spreads her legs wider, invitingly. “Raelle, touch me.”

Raelle’s mouth curves into a smile. She strokes Scylla’s clit, but her touch is feather-light, all tease and no relief. “Like this?”

“More.” 

Raelle’s fingers languidly swirl in a circle. “Like this?”

_“More.”_

Raelle's grin turns cocky. She nips at Scylla’s lips, pushing her fingers a little harder, enjoying how it makes Scylla gasp and squirm. “Tell me what you want, Scyl,” she whispers. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“Fuck.” She grinds against Raelle’s palm. “I want you inside me.”

Raelle’s fingers push against, but not in, and for a second, Scylla thinks she’s going to kill her. “How bad?”

“Bad. Fuck me, Raelle, or -”

Two fingers enter, sinking inside right up to the knuckles, soothing the ache. Scylla whimpers as Raelle’s knowing fingers curve upwards. Every gentle thrust hits a spot inside Scylla that makes her shake.

“Oh, god,” Scylla whimpers. She can’t deny herself any longer as she begins to ride Raelle. She pulls Raelle close, overcome with the urge to hold her as they rock shakily against each other. Her room is silent except for their labored breathing and the slick sound of Raelle, entering Scylla, again and again. 

“Look at you,” Raelle rasps, licking Scylla’s throat. “Such a needy little thing.”

It’s incredible that just a few words can send a bolt of heat _right_ to Scylla’s core. But Raelle has a way of making her feel like she’s a candle, burning to the wick. 

“More, Raelle,” she begs, riding her in earnest. “More.” 

Raelle's mouth latches onto her nipple, tongue swirling against the taut, aching skin. Scylla cries out, squeezing her eyes shut. The pleasure makes her dizzy. Makes her loud. The whole floor can probably hear them, which, _good_ . The other witches need to know that Raelle is _hers_ , and hers _alone_.

She groans, clenching around Raelle, holding her tighter, her pleasure building in waves.

“Scylla…I can see us. In the mirror.”

 _What?_ Scylla turns her head to look, and…

Fuck. She can see them too. They normally don’t pay attention to it when they’re on the bed. The mirror isn’t full length, and it certainly isn’t long enough to see where Scylla’s cunt meets Raelle’s fingers. But what they _can_ see is hot enough.Scylla’s bare back flexing and tensing while Raelle watches her, fully dressed but still looking completely undone.

“Mhmm.” Scylla turns away from her own reflection, sighing against Raelle’s lips. “Told you I was going to give you a show.”

“Hell _yeah_ you are.”

Fuck. She can’t help but glance back, watching herself as she rides Raelle. It’s like there’s an electric current running through Scylla’s veins. To think, only an hour ago, her Spree handler was rebuking her through that same mirror. _Her?_ When Scylla is holding up her end of the deal ? Jesus. Her handler doesn’t know a damn thing. She has her mark _exactly_ where she wants her, and it’s not her fault her handler is too dumb to see it.

“You’re so sexy,” Raelle growls, breaking into Scylla’s thoughts. She’s still staring at their reflection, like she can’t believe this is real. “You’re such a siren. Goddess, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Raelle is fucking her in earnest now, using her spare hand that’s resting on Scylla’s thigh as leverage as her whole body thrusts into Scylla in a smooth motion. They’re perched a little precariously on the edge of the bed, but Raelle is strong, holding them both up as they pant and move against one another. Every time Scylla thinks she might fall, it’s okay, because Raelle is there to catch her.

The part of Scylla's brain that isn't completely ruined sends up a prayer of thanks for how good Raelle is at this, how good she is at fucking Scylla. As if sensing she just needs a little more, Raelle maneuvers her thumb so it rubs against Scylla’s clit every time her fingers thrust inside.

Scylla almost comes on the spot.“ _Fuck_. Raelle!”

“Yeah, you like that. I can _see_ you. Goddess, you look so good when you spread your legs for me.”

Their eyes meet in the mirror, blue against blue. Raelle’s pupils are totally blown, her blonde hair a tangled, sweaty smear across her forehead. Scylla doesn’t look any better, though, but she likes that. She likes how much of a mess they make of each other.

Scylla threads her fingers through Raelle's braids and _tugs_ , eyes never leaving the mirror. “I love watching you fuck me.”

“I love it, too.” Raelle’s voice sounds strangled. “You feel so good for me, baby-”

Scylla whimpers, on the edge, needily bucking against Raelle. She wants to keep looking at their reflection, but the openness in Raelle’s eyes is too beautiful, too unnerving. Scylla slams her eyes shut, focusing instead on how good Raelle feels inside of her. Scylla’s skin is chafing against the other girl’s hoodie a bit, and her legs are a little stiff from straddling Raelle for so long. But she doesn’t care that she’ll be sore in the morning. In fact, Scylla relishes it, hopes Raelle will leave her bruised and marked for days. 

The orgasm begins to hit just as Raelle's spare hand reaches for Scylla's, interlocking their fingers and squeezing tight. Scylla’s a goner, then; lingering for a split second between anticipation and release before her orgasm crashes over her like a tsunami. Her eyes slam shut as she flops against Raelle’s shoulder, too wrung out to keep her head up as she tenses and clenches around the other girl, again and again, her body roiled in continuous bliss.

“Fuck,” she groans after what feels like forever. She’s sated, boneless and fuzzy. “Raelle…”

Raelle catches her gaze. She’s panting, her face radiant, eyes glazed over, as if she was the one who just got fucked. Scylla has seen this look before. Raelle is desperate, so turned on she can barely stand it.

She needs help. And Scylla is _nothing_ if not helpful.

Scylla pulls off Raelle, hissing a bit as the other girl slips out. Raelle blinks owlishly at her. It’s adorable how dopey she gets when she’s _this_ turned on. Scylla will definitely tease her about it later, but now she has something much better in mind. She grabs Raelle’s hand, moaning as she licks it clean, tasting herself on the other girl’s fingers. Raelle whimpers, hips canting upwards a tiny bit, grinding against nothing. It’s fucking hot that Raelle doesn’t even have the compusure to wait a few seconds, and it makes Scylla even more eager as she drops to her knees.

She grabs at Raelle’s dress pants, tugging insistently. Raelle lifts her hips and somehow, the two of them manage to pull her pants and shoes off, her soaked briefs following straight after.

"Scyl… won't your knees hurt too much to do that? Are you sure you want to…?"

"Shhhhh. No talking. Just enjoy."

Raelle’s lips tremble in anticipation as she parts her legs. The heady scent of her arousal is strong, and even in the dull light, Scylla can see her core is flushed a deep pink, her short curls slick with desire. 

It would be cruel to make her wait any longer. 

She kisses up her leg, fingers scorching a trail over burning skin, nipping at her glossy witch mark. She makes sure Raelle is perched right on the edge of the bed, legs spread indecently. Scylla doesn’t bother with niceties, wrapping her arms around Raelle’s thighs and licking into her wet heat almost wildly. 

“Oh, fuck.” Raelle grabs Scylla’s hair, twisting it in a way that might have been painful, if they both weren’t still so fucking turned on.“Oh fuck, Scyl. That’s so good.”

She sounds desperate. Scylla groans against Raelle’s cunt. They’ve fucked in so many ways, but as the weeks passed, they confirmed what Scylla already knew, right from the start: there’s nothing she likes more than eating Raelle out. There’s something exhilarating about being so close to the apex of Raelle’s desire. It’s almost overwhelming, being able to smell her, taste her, feel how wet and slick she gets with every broad stroke of Scylla’s tongue. Usually Scylla likes to savor it, dragging out Raelle's pleasure for as long as she can. 

But not tonight.

Raelle is close already. Scylla can tell, just from the frantic way she bucks her hips up, chasing release. Raelle’s hand is heavy on the back of Scylla’s head, holding her down as she fucks her face. Not that Scylla is going anywhere, even when she has to suck in tiny gasps of air before going back in. Right now, there’s nowhere else she’d rather be, naked and on her knees for Raelle.

Her ears are muffled by two strong thighs but even so, she can hear Raelle’s strangled groans. She can’t see her from her position on the floor, but she knows what Raelle must look like: head thrown back, lips parted, cheeks tinged pink and her brow all sweetly knotted. The image makes Scylla moan as she purses her lips around Raelle’s clit, sucking on it just how she likes it. 

“That’s so good, baby.” Raelle grinds her clit against Scylla’s tongue. “Scyl... baby....I’m gonna…”

A few more broad, flat strokes is enough. Raelle stiffens above her before clamping her thighs around Scylla’s head, hard, as she comes in her mouth. Scylla groans, slowing down but not moving away, wanting to guide her through her pleasure as Raelle cries out above her.

It seems to take ages before Raelle relaxes, the tension abruptly leaving her body like air escaping a balloon.

Raelle’s thighs are shaking and she’s panting, as if she’s just sprinted to the other side of the base and back. Scylla kisses Raelle’s _shiny_ mark before sitting back on her haunches. 

“Scylla,” Raelle says in awe, “you look…”

Scylla shivers, suddenly feeling very exposed. She must be quite a sight; : naked, on her knees, hair disheveled, her chest heaving and her face soaked with Raelle’s pleasure. She feels a little _wrecked_ and _used_ and she is surprised by how much she likes it.

“Scyl? Are you okay? Here, you must be cold, c’mere.”

“Mhmm.” Scylla licks her lips as Raelle tugs her up onto the bed. She can taste and smell Raelle everywhere. “That wasn’t the worst bet I’ve lost.”

Raelle chuckles. “I’m glad.” She looks a little sheepish as she hands Scylla a tissue. “Are you sure you’re okay? I hope I wasn’t too rough.” Her eyes widen and she rubs Scylla’s arms. “Scyl, you’re freezing. Get under the covers.”

They burrow into the sheets. Her bed is cold but it soon warms up as Raelle lays on her back and tangles her legs with Scylla’s.

“Your clothes. Off,” Scylla pouts, tugging at Raelle’s hoodie. The other girl laughs, flinging her hoodie and shirt across the room, as if they deeply offended her, before pulling Scylla down on top of her, drawing her into a close embrace.

“Mhmmmm,” Scylla sighs, sparks shooting all through her, making her chilled skin hum with warmth. She’ll never get sick of this, never get sick of how lovely it is to be pressed flush against Raelle. “You feel good.”

“So do you. You smell good, too.”

“I do?” She crinkles her nose. “What do I smell like?”

“I dunno. I guess, well, it’s hard to describe...but ...I would know it anywhere.”

Scylla squirms, burrowing her face against Raelle, not having the strength to interrogate the odd rush of affection that surges to her chest.

They lie there for a while, their labored breathing slowly returning to normal. Raelle gently strokes Scylla’s damp hair, resting her cheek on the crown of Scylla’s head. Scylla smiles, nuzzling Raelle’s neck, content; except for the tiny, gnarled part of her that whispers _it’s not too late to run_. 

Raelle’s chest starts to quiver, and for a horrible, split second Scylla thinks the other witch has read her mind. But then she hears Raelle choke back a laugh.

“What?”

Raelle’s hand is covering her eyes, but that does nothing to stifle her laughter. “Sorry. Sorry….it’s just….I’m never looking at that mirror the same way again.”

_“Raelle.”_

“What? It’s a _sexy_ mirror.”

“Shut up. It is not.”

“I beg to differ, it’s very sexy.”

“That’s just you.” Scylla disentangles herself, leaning on her elbow and looking down at Raelle. The other witch shifts against her pillow, the moonlight catching the sharp slant of her cheekbones, and for a second, Scylla swears she can’t _speak_.

She clears her throat awkwardly instead, running the tip of her finger down the jagged scar on Raelle’s face, the one she’s kissed a dozen times, or more. “But…I must admit, we are….good at this.”

Raelle looks way too smug. “At what?”

_“You know.”_

“I don’t know.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop pretending.” She can feel herself blush. “You do know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Raelle smiles fondly, lacing their fingers together. “We are... _really..._ good at that.”

The best Scylla’s ever had. Not that it’s hard to compete; she barely remembers the Blaster girl, and while Porter was earnest, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Asha was skilled, though. Scylla can remember their one night together in the Spree safe house, before Asha was activated,the ancient bed frame creaking underneath them as Scylla squirmed against the sheets, Asha’s eager tongue taking her over the edge, again and again. But even that, good as it was, pales in comparison to Raelle’s hands, and tongue, and lips. 

But then, everything pales in comparison when it comes to Raelle.

“There were other girls, right? There had to be, back in the Cession? What were they like?”

Raelle blinks up at her, totally thrown, and if Scylla could she would kick herself. What was she _thinking_? They had just made a tacit agreement not to talk about Scylla’s past, but here she is, trying to dredge up Raelle’s. The more she digs into Raelle’s history, the more Raelle will want what Scylla just can’t give. 

She’s not sure why, but there’s something about Raelle that makes Scylla reckless.

Makes her take risks that ordinarily she wouldn’t dare. 

“Are you asking me about the girls back home?”

“Yes,” she admits. She feels like an absolute fool.

“Why?”

“Because…you’re so good at making me feel...really good, and just, do _not_ tell me that is all just natural talent, your mark was shiny before you got here.”

“Yeah, okay, I get you,” Raelle laughs, smiling so wide it makes her eyes crinkle. “There were other girls, back home.”

“Other witches?”

“Civilians. We lived pretty far away from the nearest witch community. But there were a few from my school, and one of my teammates on my lacrosse team.”

“Your lacrosse team?” Scylla shifts against the sheets, aware all of a sudden of how wet she still is. “I bet you looked good in that uniform. I bet you had your pick of girls, I bet they were all over you.”

“They were.” An awkward pause. “For a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… you know.” Raelle’s smile fades. “I was a bit of a novelty, I guess. The town witch. Good for a night, but…not to date.”

“So they just....forgot about you when they were…” Scylla can barely force the words out. “Finished?”

“It was fine. There was no point in getting attached, anyway. At my school, everyone knew where they were going after graduation. A few got into community college, but most were happy to get a job somewhere local. I even knew a kid who’d rustled up enough money for a road trip. Whereas me...everyone knew I was going to enlist. So, you know.” Raelle shrugs, looking away, but not before Scylla catches the anguish on her face. “It was better that way.”

“No, it’s not,” Scylla snarls, making Raelle look at her. “It is not okay, _none_ of that was okay.”

“Scyl…”

“They had no right to take advantage of you. No right to use you and then get on with their lives like it was nothing.”

“They weren’t bad, okay. They were all nice, and it’s not like they weren’t wrong. I was going to enlist, they weren’t, end of story.”

For the first time in hours she thinks of Scylla thinks of the mission; thinks of how Raelle deserves better than being everybody’s afterthought.

“Of course _civilians_ can think that way.”

Something twists in Raelle’s face, something that Scylla’s not sure she likes. “Civilians aren’t all bad, Scylla,” she says. “I have a civilian father, after all.”

She’s said too much, Scylla can tell. She tries to calm the frantic beating of her heart, tries to salvage the situation before it spins out of control. “I know that,” she says. “I wish things were different…I wish....” she looks down at their clasped hands. “I wouldn’t have thrown you away, Raelle. I would never throw you away.”

“Scylla. It’s okay. I’m okay, really. I don’t care about those girls, anyway.” Her fingers cup Scylla’s chin. “I’ve got you now.” 

_She does_ , Scylla thinks, but can’t find the words, so she kisses Raelle, again and again, until her lips are tingling and they’re both shaking with want, all over again. 

“You’re beautiful,” Scylla sighs against Raelle’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful.”

She’s filled with a sudden urgency to touch every inch of Raelle, hoping her lips and tongue and fingers can tell Raelle all the things she can’t say. She takes her time, skimming her fingertips across every dip and curve of Raelle’s body until the other witch is squirming against the mattress.

It’s a little scary how insatiable they are for one another. Scylla chooses not to dwell on that, biting Raelle’s neck instead, smiling wickedly as the other witch gasps, arching up. Scylla kisses her before moving down her body with purpose.

“Where did you come from?” Raelle whispers, staring up at the ceiling, voice so soft she could be talking to herself. 

_It doesn’t matter where I came from,_ Scylla thinks as she drags the tip of her tongue across the flat pane of Raelle’s stomach before going lower, and lower still. 

_All that matters is that I’m here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story? Still porny.
> 
> First of all, a MASSIVE thank you to vuvalinis, who is not only a magnificent sounding board, but also, a tremendously kind, patient and precise beta. Any mistakes left are things I have missed, since you were so thorough. Thank you again for being such a good friend.
> 
> Second of all, I realize I was a bit slack replying to reviews, but THAT STOPS NOW. Reviews are like melted cheese sandwiches, despite what doctors say, you can never have enough. So if you would like to FEED ME, please leave a kudos and review. It really does warm the cockles of my cold, dead heart.
> 
> And third of all, thank you so much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> #shrug# Told you it was porny.
> 
> First of all, thanks again to my wife who puts up with my stupid writer ways and agrees to beta my stories anyway. You are so generous and loving (and exacting - sorry about all the rogue spaces and commas). You make me a better writer. And I am sorry I love Raylla so much when you would much prefer to read to Alder-related smut. You’re amazing and I love you.
> 
> Second of all, y'all are very good at reading, reviewing and clicking on that kudos button. I know that. But I feel it is my duty to remind you that people who review are in fact, more likely to win the lottery. I read that in a fortune cookie once, and you know they are never wrong. So. Just saying
> 
> Third of all, thanks so much for reading. I have started chapter two already, so hopefully the wait for an update will not be too long.


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